Disasters Come in Threes
by Irbis
Summary: Different levels of disaster will visit upon Jubilee, Sabretooth and Rogue, and not one of them will come out unscathed at the end.
1. The First One: Sins of the Parents

**Double-Dealings**

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**1\. First: The Sins of the Parents**

Emily Mars could still remember her real parents, even though they had given her up to adoption when she was seven, about eight years ago. She knew they had lost their jobs, become homeless, and then they had selfishlessly given her to a well-off family so she might have a chance in life. She remembered her mother was blonde, for example, and that her father was a tall thin man. But that was it; every other memory had slowly faded into nothing overtime. Even the music lessons, because her mother had played the piano and the… violin? She knew her mother had taught her how to play the piano but she couldn't even recall which songs, only that elusive feeling she couldn't quite qualify when she heard some songs. Had she played them herself or had she heard her mother play them? Or maybe she had learnt about them later. It was maddening, not knowing!

It had started a couple of years before, when her History teacher, Mr. Jackson, had asked the class for their genealogic tree and told them that every person they descended from had had some influence in making them who they were. More than that, though, every person they had come into contact with had also influenced them.

"Who are you?" He had asked. "You are the sum of your genetic imprint but, most of all, you are the sum of all the people that had, and have, an impact in your life while you grow. Hold on to it, because to forget where you come from, whether it's your biologic origin or your upbringing, is to throw away who you are."

And Emily was throwing away everything she was with every passing year.

"4B," Anne said, hugging her friend. "This is their door."

God, she felt like crying! Would they recognise her? Would _she_ recognise them?

"Go on Emily," the older Frank urged with a half-suppressed yawn. "It's a bit late for second thoughts."

And it was. Emily often spent the weekend at Anne's house, with her older brother Frank. Jason was often around too. When Anne had come up with the brilliant plan to find Emily's biologic parents, the four had come together to make it happen. And they had, even if they had had to lie to their parents, saying they were spending the weekend at eachothers' while instead they had hopped on a plane and flown all the way from Florida to Los Angeles. It really was much too late to hesitate.

"Oh, come on!" Jason stepped up and knocked vigorously. "We'll still have to find a motel if things go wrong and they kick us out."

"Will you shut up!" Anne hissed as Jason, being a knowledgeable nineteen-year-old, insisted it was a possibility. It was better if they kept it in mind, right? Just in case.

"Who is it?" Oh God, it was her mother's voice.

"Oh my God!" Anne latched onto her gasping friend, almost causing her to fall. "Oh my God, Anne."

"Who is it?"

Emily thought she recognised the voice. She really did think so. Almost 100% certain…

"It's Emily," Anne screamed at Emily's ears. "Emily."

For a moment, time stopped and there was absolute silence. Then the door opened, slowly. Emily felt so sick she could have burst into tears. Her mother looked… old. She couldn't recognise her at all, even her hair had been dyed dark brown.

"Dear God," the woman – her mother – whispered.

"Who is it, Elsie?"

A tall, thin man showed up in the room, behind her mother. He was almost completely grey. That was her father.

"It's Emily, Rob." Tears were flowing down her mother's face and Emily couldn't stop herself as tears did burst forth and the woman – her mother! – opened her arms to embrace her. "It's our Emily, dear God! My baby Emmy!"

* * *

Jubilee pushed the box of tissues towards the teenager.

"Had any of you considered they might be mutants?"

The girl shook her head briskly and sniffed, rubbing a hand over her tear soaked cheeks.

"Emily, are you sure Jason and Frank had never..."

"No!"

Jubilee backed off and gave her some time.

"It was only when... when my mother said that they had left me because they were mutants and didn't want me to get hurt because there were people attacking mutants and because I wasn't a mutant and I didn't have to live like a marginal because _they_ were mutants."

Jubilee pushed the box a bit more, till it was right under her nose.

"OK. Do you remember how they reacted to it?"

The girl shrugged and pulled a tissue out, rolling it in between her fingers.

"I just... I..."

"It's ok, take your time."

"I'm sorry, I just don't remember. I was..."

"Shocked," Jubilee offered and the girl nodded, sniffing.

"I just remember... my mother said they weren't mutants anymore, not after M-day, and that anyway I wasn't a mutant, M-day or no M-day. And then... then... I saw him fall, my father. I saw him fall and there was blood everywhere and... and my mother was saying 'it was this I saw' over and over again, and Frank... Frank said..."

"It's ok," Jubilee whispered as the girl choked a couple of sobs.

"Anne told him not to, that I wasn't a mutant, that it wasn't my fault they were... but he just said mutant blood is mutant blood, powers or no powers. That we have to get rid of all mutant blood, that it's the only way mutants will disappear. That it's kill or be killed, and that she had to decide if she was going to kill or be killed too."

"But Anne decided to stand by you."

Emily nodded, sniffing.

"She pulled me out of the house. My mother told us to run and tried to stop him but Frank... Frank is strong. He is a quarter-back, you know. He's strong."

Jubilee let the girl wipe her nose before asking about Jason, which had the girl shaking her head.

"I don't remember, I'm sorry. I don't remember."

That was probably all they were going to get from Emily Mars. Jubilee hoped her adoptive parents would arrive soon. The fifteen-year-old needed a loved one to comfort her.

"We used to play this online game," Emily chuckled grimly. "Whack-an-M."

Ah, yes, Jubilee knew the game. It actually required the players to manifest a very good degree of strategy and team work. Of course, its objective was also to kill as many mutants as possible, the team work being necessary for the regular humans to counter-act the all-powerful mutant terrorists.

"My mum... I mean, my adoptive mum. She hated the game; said it didn't teach anything. She likes pedagogic games, you know." The girl held back a sob, frowning as new tears spilled. "Frank... Frank was like a big brother to me. He loved Anne's idea of finding my real parents. He worked so hard to make it all happen!"

And then turned psycho. Poor girl.

"I shouldn't have come," she mumbled, pushing back more sobs. "They'd still be alive if I... if I hadn't..."

"No," Jubilee cut in, causing the girl to look up. "You listen to me: none of this is your fault, you understand? Frank Larsen is the one at fault, not you."

She shook her head, tears still streaming down her face.

"But _I_ came looking for them!"

"It is _not_ your fault, Emily."

"Oh, God, God, GOD!" The girl covered her face with her hands and started crying in earnest.

Jubilee hated cases like this... The poor girl was set to spend years seeing a therapist. What to do but get up and hug the poor thing till she calmed down?

"I just wanted to see them again," the girl wailed. "They're part of me!"

"They will always be a part of you," Jubilee pointed out, holding her sobbing frame tight. "No one can take that away from you."

"Not if I forget them! That's why I wanted to meet them, because if I forget them, they're gone and then _I'm_ gone because... who am I if I forget them? Who am I?"

"You are a strong kid," Jubilee whispered in her ear. "A strong kid who will survive this."

"I don't want to forget them," she still wept. "I don't want to lose them. Not again, not again."

The knock on the door didn't snap the girl from her pain, but Jubilee looked up to see Amy Turin, the law expert of her team.

"Emily's parents have just arrived," the woman's slow voice sounded angry as she nodded with her head for Jubilee to join her.

"What's wrong?" Jubilee asked the moment she closed the door, leaving Emily Mars alone with the box of tissues.

Turin was the cool headed in the team, so the clenched teeth meant something was seriously wrong.

"They've just disowned the girl." Jubilee didn't make the connection immediately and Turin exhaled with undisguised exasperation. "Janet and Larry Mars. Not to mention they're threatening to sue the system for encumbering them with a mutant."

What?! Hadn't the girl suffered enough? Well, she sure as hell wasn't going to stand there doing nothing. First of all... No, first of all, she had to catch Frank Larsen and Jason Kingston, and get justice under way. Then she would get Turin to help her convince the social services that the safest place for the teenager was the Massachusetts Academy for Integration. These days, the school housed more children of former mutants than actual mutants, but it remained a safe haven in a world of hate.

Elton Robson and Tom Selks, the two other agents in Jubilee's team, were waiting for her in the cramped room the local police had cleared for them. As Turin opened the door to let Jubilee in, Tom jumped up with the news.

"Emily Mars has an aunt." If she were as anti-mutant as the Mars... "Louise Patterson, sister of the deceased Elsie Robertson. She lives in South Virgina but is already making arrangements to fly in."

"And the runaways?"

"The police put out an APB," Elton shrugged. "They don't know the city, don't have anyone to help them hide... it shouldn't take long to catch them."

OK, time to wait. An aunt, huh?

"Did you talk to her, Tom? The aunt, I mean."

The young man nodded with a grin. "She's a bit weird, if you ask me. She was in this spiritual retreat and she was wearing feathers and colourful stones on her hair."

Well, there are worse things than having an eccentric aunt.

"How did she react to the news?"

"Resigned. She knew her sister was a mutant. Apparently she could see auras and she could tell if people were mutants or not just from looking at them. She also had flashes of the future and she supposedly predicted her own death."

Seriously? Then why hadn't she done something to prevent it?

"That was the real reason for giving up the girl, apparently: she thought that if she and her husband were to die, at least their daughter would survive."

"Unfortunately," Turin grunted, "the effort to avoid the premonition was what caused it to come to pass."

Jubilee shook her head. "Doesn't it always?"

* * *

Justin's ringtone caused Jubilee to jump in the car seat. With an annoyed grunt, she picked the thing up and answered with her trademark cheer.

"Hey, how's everything?"

Sort of.

"Is there something wrong? You sound a little…blue."

Wha...! As _if_!

"It's past midnight," she grumbled in a sudden bad mood. "If anything, I sound sleepy. Is there a point for the late call?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. How's the case going?"

She shrugged. The two boys hadn't been caught yet, over 48 hours after the murder, but at least the girl, Emily, had had a break and was going to live with her aunt.

"It's going."

"Are you sure you're ok?"

Really?

"Actually, no, I'm not. It's late and you're keeping me from sleeping."

Unsurprisingly, Justin didn't chat for much longer. As in maybe five seconds to finish the call. Jubilee threw the mobile into a pocket and looked at the house on the other side of the street. It looked so different. And it amazed her that she could tell there were differences when she couldn't remember what it had looked like back then. How did she even know it was different?

"My parents told me to try and forget about it, that it was a past life," Emily had said during the questioning, before learning their adoptive parents wanted to get rid of her. "They said I had to focus on my life now."

Wise words, even if coming from a pair of pig-headed mutant-haters.

Jubilee understood the teenager's pain. Only those who live through it can understand how much it hurts everytime you realise you've forgotten one more thing about your lost parents. Or family, or friends, or whomever. But in this case, it was parents. You loved them, and then... one day you can't recall who had blue eyes, was it mom or dad? And then one day you're in doubt if you've inherited your blue eyes from one of them or from a grandparent because you just _can't_ remember anymore. It's just like Emily said, it felt like losing them all over again. It's so much easier to put everything away and just not think about it.

"Those seven years I lived with my real parents made me who I am now, so how can I just forget about them?"

It's not really forgetting, though. It's just not thinking about it. That's all. Less painful, more practical.

"I don't want to lose them again," Emily sobbed in Jubilee's memory.

But let's be real: what else happens when you go digging the past? Pain and renewed sense of lost. No. Logan was right about that, live in the present and forget the past. Bury it, as deep as you can. After all, you aren't supposed to live in past, right? Seize the day! Seize the moment! And look ahead into the future! No time for crying over past sorrows.

Jubilee started the car and looked at her childhood home one last time.

What was she even doing there?

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If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	2. Doubts

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**2\. Doubts**

Elton Robson took so long to pick up Jubilee's call that she had gotten lost in her thoughts and had almost forgotten she was on the phone.

"Elton! I had almost given up on you," she beamed in a cheerful voice. "I hadn't taken you for such a heavy sleeper."

"I was in the _shower_," her squad colleague grumbled. "You have the worst timing."

So he kept saying, but Jubilee knew better than to stay on that topic. Elton would just start listing a bunch of exaggerated examples.

"I was wondering if you could have a word with our beloved squad analyst, sweet tempered Kate, and find out if there's any news of disappearances."

There was a puffed grunt from the other side of the line which Jubilee decided sounded assenting, even if not very happy. She was actually about to thank him and switch off when he asked why she didn't call Kate herself.

"Why would I ever do that? She hates my guts!"

Not to say she would probably find a way to dodge Jubilee's question and leave her hanging. Especially at nine in the evening. Knowing that Jubilee was not on a mission was actually the perfect reason to keep mum.

"Yours and everyone else's," Elton grumbled. "But if you had stopped by her office before..."

"Will you stop whining?" Jubilee rolled her eyes. Elton always did the same, griping every time anyone asked him to get something out of Kate. "Besides she loves _your_ guts. She'd much rather answer your questions than anyone else's."

"That's because I'm a decent human being who doesn't only remember the woman exists when I need her for something."

Jubilee couldn't help the teasing chuckle.

"That and the fact you bribe her with chocolate."

The defeated groan was music to Jubilee's ears.

"Thanks, El." She beamed relaxedly. "And just so you don't think I'm an awful human being, I'll get you a box of chocolates tomorrow, deal?"

Jubilee was still chuckling when he hung up. Elton was so very easy to pick on, unlike Amy. She was more uptight than Scott Summers had ever been in his whole life and then some more. Not to mention Elton never really got upset with anything. Jubilee lay back on the lounge chair by the swimming pool and sighed. She had been joking about the chocolate but it wasn't a bad idea. She could get a whole bunch of boxes and pile them all over his desk... that might start a rumour of a secret admirer, if she had a courier send them in, but if she added an unsigned card saying 'to the greatest work colleague ever'...

"Hey, Jubes!"

She got up with a start, looking back at the house. There was a light on near the door that turned Kitty into an approaching black shadow.

"Were you talking to Justin?"

Jubilee shook her head. As Kitty pulled another lounge chair closer, the background light was no longer behind her and Jubilee could distinguish her features in the warm darkness of the evening.

"Elton. I forgot Scott had asked me to check on the progress of the Analysts. You know, to find out if there are more kids getting spirited away."

Kitty nodded and lay back.

"How is he? He hasn't stopped by in months!"

Jubilee couldn't help laughing.

"I didn't know you missed him."

"He's the nicest person in your team," her friend pointed out. "And he seemed to... you know, get on with everyone here."

"Uh-huh," she chuckled devilishly. Although it was true, he was the Mister Universe of the Nice Guy Pageant. Jubilee supposed she might just have to spill part of the beans.

"Don't spread it about, ok? The last time he stopped by, he kind of let it slip he isn't really comfortable coming here." Kitty leaned forward with a frown. Hmm, she'd better explain it better. "It's because of... you know, what happened to his sister."

"What sister?"

Jubilee groaned.

"Fine, just don't mention it to anyone because he's really touchy about the topic, ok? So it's like this, his sister had a skin problem, hives or something, and one day her skin kind of broke out bad when she was out and about and someone thought she was a mutant and... she got beaten to death."

"Oh my god! I had no idea!"

"Yeah, I know, he doesn't go about telling it to anyone so..." But Kitty was already promising not to breathe a word of it. "Anyway, he once said that if she had been a mutant she would probably be alive because she'd have been able to join our school."

Kitty nodded and Jubilee recalled how often Elton said that normal people who don't look normal are often in greater danger than mutants themselves. Seeing how thoughtful Kitty had turned, and hoping she wasn't thinking of letting Elton know she had revealed the one big skeleton in his closet, Jubilee sighed dramatically.

"This Mystique story really is something, huh?"

"Oh no," Kitty groaned, "let's not go there. Ever since the guys got back from Paris, that's _all_ everyone has been talking about. We have reviewed and adjusted every security measure, Rogue has had video conferences with us every five hours hoping to hear any type of novelty, Logan and Creed have spent the last two days scouting the area around us and Kurt's house trying to get a sniff of her scent, and even Emma agreed with Creed that neither Lilia nor Zelig should start school before every person has had a full background, foreground and sides-ground check. It's nuts!"

Ouch, panic mode.

"But is it really likely she's going to target us or kidnap the twins?"

Maybe Tigard, if she had gotten a grudge on the guy. So yes, maybe it was best if Lilia was kept in a secure environment for the time being. But Zelig?

Kitty shrugged.

"Creed did make a convincing argument, but I just can't imagine how anyone could ever manage to get to the twins. If I were Mystique and I wanted to get them, I would wait until they were old enough to start school and become more autonomous. As it is, either Rogue is with them, or their nanny is. They are never alone, and they are never out of the grounds of the Massachusetts School. They can't be kidnapped. Not unless she finds a mutant that can teleport in and out, and Scott has been going over the records looking for any teleporters that might fit the bill. So far, he's found no one."

So maybe Mystique was really looking elsewhere to start this supposed school for mutants. If that was what she was really trying to do.

"Let's talk about something else, OK?" Jubilee nodded and Kitty moved on to a low-voiced question: "Was it very bad, the LA case?"

"Huh... What are you talking about?"

Kitty shrugged.

"You were a bit thoughtful over dinner; that usually means a recent bad case."

Jubilee grunted and lay back on the chair. For a moment she decided not to talk about the topic but there was no quick answer on her tongue so she ended up rolling her eyes, groaning and... what the hell!

"This girl got given up for adoption by her parents when she was seven. When she was 14 she relised she had mostly forgotten about them and felt bad about it, so she got some friends and they spent about a year tracking down her real parents and... they turned out to be former mutants so one of her friends goes crazy and kills them."

"Oh no, that's awful!" No point mentioning her adoptive parents had kicked her out for being the daughter of mutants. "She must feel like it's all her fault. Poor thing!"

"Yeah, and the ironic bit is that she came looking for her parents because she didn't want to forget about them and now she really has to forget them in order to move on."

"No," there was something in the way Kitty said it that had Jubilee look at her. She was frowning, grave.

"She needs to mourn their death and find closure, not forget about them. That's just plain ridiculous, Jubilee. And dangerous! She's hurt, wounded. If she tries to sweep it under the rug, the wound will just fester and she will never overcome the pain of her loss."

Okay, this was getting too intense.

"I just meant that, after the mourning and the closure and stuff, she'll end up putting them behind her back and forgetting about them."

Kitty puffed, obviously disagreeing.

"When Peter died, I mourned him and I found closure, but I did _not_ forget about him. Not for one minute."

Jubilee rolled her eyes. This was starting to sound like a discussion that wouldn't die quietly.

"Petey is a completely different story," she reasoned. "You were in love with him."

Although it wasn't that different. Wolvie had loved a ton of women, and he had put them behind his back after mourning them. I mean, he had to, right? Or could he carry on always thinking about Silver Fox, and Mariko, and Jean (although she didn't fully count, not as the other two did)?

"It's not different," Kitty bristled. "But fine. What about my parents? Do you think I've forgotten them? Put them behind my back and acted as if they never existed?"

This was getting out of hand, Jubilee groaned.

"Will you cool down? I'm not saying that!"

"Well, you're certainly implying that the only way for that girl to overcome the death of her parents is to forget about them!"

In her particular case, like, duh!

"Her parents died because she came looking for them," even if it had been an accident. "That's something that's going to haunt her for life if she doesn't throw the whole thing out of her mind."

Kitty shook her head vehemently.

"She needs to overcome it, not forget it, because it's something that can't be forgotten. She has to come to terms with it, accept that there is nothing she can do about it and find closure. It may take time, but she'll have to do it. If a person tries to forget about things like this, I'm telling you, the only result is pain and anger for life."

What? Talk about over-generalisation!

"Because Wolvie," or even Jubilee herself, "is obviously in, like, crippling emotional pain for putting all the people he's lost out of his mind. _Obviously_."

"Well, if a person doesn't want to talk about lost loved ones," Kitty scoffed, "it is probably because they _are_ in pain. As for Logan... Listen, Jubes, I've got the greatest respect and admiration for Logan, and I love him dearly, but let's be honest: his way of dealing with grief is anything but healthy or successful."

What was that supposed to mean?

"Of course it is successful..."

Kitty shook her head.

"He avoids talking about people he has lost, no matter who or how. And when he does mention them, his pain is very clear. I'm not saying pain disappears, but if you have found closure, if you have found peace, then the pain shouldn't be so strong that you can't feel at least some sort of comfort in remembering the good times you had with them. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Nope, because it didn't make sense. Getting comfort from reliving everything you've lost, really? _That_ was plain insane. The simplest thing was to cry your eyes out for a few days and then put a lid on it and move on. If you did it right, there wouldn't be any wounds festering because the wound would have been cut clean and left behind. End of story.

"Look, Pryde, people deal with loss in different ways, ok?"

"Naturally. But there are healthy ways of doing it, and there are unhealthy ways."

Okay, it was time to change the subject before the evening became sour.

"Anyways, when are we going to go on another girls' night out, huh?"

Kitty sighed but took the hint.

"It probably depends on you. You're the one who got field trips over the last two weekends. Are you having a break next weekend, do you think?"

Good question. Hell if she knew! Scratching her head, she shrugged.

"I was going to take a couple days to recharge this week, we could go out for lunch instead and... oh, we could go to the movies!"

"Or shopping. I need to get a new pair of sandals." Oh, yes, great idea! And Jubilee nodded excitedly. "Not to mention it'll be much easier to get Isabel out of the house."

Huh? Her face must have shown her confusion because Kitty laughed.

"Everyone's maniac about security these days, remember? When Creed told her she was not leaving the house until the matter was cleared, she was very eager to agree."

So?

"Between you and me, she'll be as safe as a... as the twins!"

Because Rogue was like a bear mother hovering over her cubs. But then it hit her.

"Kitty, we're going to need Jenny's help." Kitty frowned with amused curiosity. "We're going to jump-start Isabel's wardrobe."

Kitty didn't seem to get what she was driving at, so Jubilee shook her head and pointed out that Isabel had been with them for what, two months? And she had worn nothing besides jeans, on the baggy side, and loose-fitting T-shirts. The dress she'd worn on their night out obviously didn't count.

"Now think about it: Isabel admitted she's in love with Creed, right? He's her one true love! And the jerk doesn't even look at her. I mean, no wonder she looks depressed! I'd be depressed too if I loved Justin that bad and he never even glanced at me!"

Kitty burst laughing with a skeptical 'you?' and Jubilee joined her that ok, she'd kick his ass on the street and get herself a new boyfriend rather than wallow in sadness.

"But Isabel's not like me, you know that! What she needs is the right kind of clothes that will make Creed's mouth drop." And she could already see Isabel prancing past the asshole in black stilletos, a tight body-fitting dress, bright red, with a plunging neckline and a short skirt. "Oh, yeah, baby! He'll have no choice but to look at her and _drool_."

"Uh…" Jubilee sensed some lack of enthusiasm and shrugged a 'what?' at her friend. "I thought we were all on the same page here, trying to get her to stand on her own two feet without becoming fearful of what Creed may think or want."

Jubilee rolled her eyes.

"Getting her to look impressive does _not_ go against that plan. In fact, it helps it. The more confident she feels in herself, the less she'll depend on _him_."

Kitty nodded but still didn't look too convinced.

"Look, you heard her on our other night out. She'll fight us every inch of the way if we try to push her away from him. This way, we'll be empowering her without _officially_ trying to break them up. Upping her confidence will make her a less willing pawn. It's baby steps."

"That's a convoluted plan," Kitty mumbled.

"It's called strategy," Jubilee explained. "So? Are you in or what?"

"I'm in. After all that confusion with Lilia calling her a coward and with her miscarriage, she needs a distraction and, in the very least, going on a shopping spree is a perfect distraction."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	3. Day Out

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**3\. Day Out**

Isabel had refused to join the girls in their shopping spree unless Creed had permission to monitor her cell phone at all times. Jubilee knew for a fact that Scott had been completely against it, as well as Hank, who, according to Kitty, had grumbled about the need for Isabel to develop healthy meaningful bonds with as many people as possible, and he sure didn't include Creed in the definition of 'people'. Just for the record, Jubilee was totally on-board with that, even if she had been the one championing Isabel's demand in the shape of the most resilient pestering she could manage while working. Although, since the last days had seen nothing but paperwork, that meant she'd been regularly texting and phoning – till everyone had stopped taking her calls, that is – Scott, Hank and anyone she could think of to grab as an ally in this quest.

You see, Jubilee had become a fine strategist and was well-versed on inverse psychology. If Isabel wanted Creed to telephonically hold her hand in order to feel safe and loved, then she would have it. And once she felt safe, she'd be open to have fun… only that fun would not include the bodily absent Creed. No siree! By their second or third outing, she wouldn't even bother to have her phone around. Now, did anyone want to know how many times she'd had to explain that simple logic to Mr Uptight Summers? Nope. Not even Jenny or Kitty, and they had agreed with her plan from pretty much the get go. That's just how hard she'd had to insist with the guy.

Unfortunately, Creed's obsession with Isabel ran a bit more deeply than anyone had expected. As in miles deep! He had started out with a text every fifteen minutes – which had not been a good sign from the get go – and was starting to get very close to one every five minutes. The worst thing was that Isabel seemed happy and content with the pestering. Well, to be honest, she _had_ seemed happy. Half way through the meal, Jubilee had caught her first sign of irritation. She was sure there had been more, in the mean time, but she was now much too busy to keep track of any more instances.

Jubilee had been blindsided. In the most betraying way possible, on top of it, and by her closest friends. Not only had she not seen it coming, she didn't even know how they'd gotten to that point. The four of them had been chatting about Zelig's first day of school. First grade already, even if everyone still kept talking about preschool back at the Institute. How fast he was growing, how excited he was about learning to read!

Then Lilia had come up, and Isabel had been adamant the girl was not going to go to kindergarten, especially in the current dangerous times. Jubilee knew, and had kept it mum, that Creed had admitted it was a good idea to enroll the child, just not right now; once Mystique's intentions were accounted for, though… he had even asked about preschools in the area, saying he wanted to check them out in advance. But no, no, no!, Isabel had told Jenny when she'd mentioned the importance of socialising. Lilia was staying at home and that was final. Anything else, only over her dead body, and off she'd changed the topic to shopping.

So how had that slumped into a discussion about over-protective men being unable to make peace when they fail to protect a loved one?

"He talked to me about some of his losses," Jenny was saying, about Wolvie of all people, "when I was still trying to deal with my… let's say personal tragedies. I could see how each and every one of those losses still ate at him."

Isabel shook her head and said something in Portuguese that might have been a light curse. That, thankfully, paused the dialogue and, hoping to get something that could help her divert the conversation, Jubilee took note of the text Isabel was typing… with the most butchered spelling she had ever seen. Was that her passive-aggressive way of telling him to leave her alone? Yes, they were still at the restaurant and no, no one had attacked them in the last ten minutes, and yes, they were all keeping an eye out for anyone acting strange, and no, there was no one looking at them obsessively, and yes, they still had to do some shopping, and no, of course they weren't going to take much longer, no.

"Men want to control what happens around dem," Isabel grumbled before Jubilee could get her diversion going, "and when dey can't…"

She sighed and shook her head at Creed's prompt reply.

"Victor, for example. If something happened to m… Quer dizer, to Lilia, he'd go crazy. I think he would prefer to forget everything because it would hurt him too much to remember."

"It's because they can only focus on the bad things," Kitty nodded. "Thinking about the good times they spent together becomes almost impossible because all they can think of is how they failed."

Jubilee rolled her eyes in silence, hoping for a second opening to get out of the fix, but Kitty just sighed.

"And then they either become angry at themselves…"

"And the world," Jenny added.

"Or they become even more obsessed with protecting people, all the way to making themselves martyrs."

That must be Petey she was thinking of. There was a triple sigh as Kitty, Isabel and Jenny nodded in agreement. Jubilee just wanted out of that picture, but right now it felt wiser not to get any attention on herself unless it was a fail-safe re-routing topic. They might just pick up where Justin had left off: that her soul was wounded by the tragic loss of her parents. As if!

"I know you don't want to hear it, Jubes," oh there it went, and Jubilee imediatelly rolled both her eyes and head as dramatically as possible. "Yes, I know. But you're Logan's spitting image on this topic. I don't think I've ever heard you talk about your parents."

"Nor have I," Jenny jumped in.

This was so not going to go down that lane.

"How come you're constantly poking me with this now, huh? Why don't you go and hassle _Wolvie_? I'd like to see that."

Jenny grinned almost malevolently.

"We have both talked to him about it," Jubilee could guess how well that chat had gone… for the entire 5 seconds it must have taken Logan to get out of the room. "And today's _your_ turn."

Oh, ha ha. So very funny. But then the idea glowed: "Isabel's never talked about her parents either!"

But Isabel laughed.

"I can tell you everything about my parents, my grandparents, my honorary grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins… my family entire! I'm always telling stories about dem to Lilia. You know why? When I talk about dem, is like dey are more live in my memories and in my heart, and I want them to continue alive in de heart of my baby girl, too."

"Yeah," Jubilee retorted a bit annoyed, "it makes the memories more alive, and it makes the pain more alive too."

But Isabel shook her head.

"I think about the good things I lived wid my family, not about what I lost. If I start think about my family only dat way – I lost dem – den de pain is going to be very bad, yes. People have to try and be happy for have lived happy things, even if dey are gone now and can't come back."

But how? Going back to what you've lost hurts like all hell, damn it! Thinking about how things would have turned out if or if. So how on earth can you go back and not remember that it's all gone, everything that you once cherished, that you would still cherish even today, and it's all… puff! gone with the wind.

"How?"

"Wid time," Isabel shrugged. "And wid talk. You talk about dem and you cry about dem and den one day… de pain is not so strong."

"Just like I told you the other day," Kitty hissed as she finished her coffee.

Jubilee shook her head as Isabel's phone beeped and the woman grunted an exasperated sigh. Grinning over her opening, Jubilee pointed out they'd better hurry up before Creed had a heart attack and started rummaging in her bag for her card. She had offered to pay lunch after all.

"If you can't talk to Justin about your most painful memories and losses," Jenny said quietly, "then you either don't really trust him enough or… you're afraid. Sorry to put it this way."

What?!

"I'm so _not_ afraid!"

Afraid of what? Seriously!

"Then tell Justin something about your parents," Jenny huffed with an annoyed tone. "Anything! You've been whining to me for weeks over how he is always going back to the topic and how you don't want to go there. Either tell him something about them or threaten to leave him if he doesn't drop it, but either way you need to put an end to the whole thing!"

That took her by surprise. She had not been whining about the situation and certainly not for weeks!

"Jenny's right, Jubes," Kitty jumped in. "You need to fix the problem instead of just complaining about it. Because ever since you've introduced him to us…"

She did _not_! She had hardly even touched on the subject! She had, what, mentioned it three or four times to Logan? And only because she wanted some advice, really. And ok, she had mentioned it to Kitty and Jenny a couple of times, yes, and to Emma, and to Petey… but she had just been looking for some advice. Was it a crime now?

"So what? I should go and dig up all my past and present it all to him, is that it?"

Jenny lifted her hands in a sign of surrender.

"I've told you a million times what I think you should do, I'm not going to repeat myself again. Now, I'm sorry but lunch dragged way too much and I need to pick up Zelig from school."

Next to Jenny, Isabel blurted out an annoyed Portuguese expression as she read Creed's most recent text.

"Now what?" Jubilee asked, hopeful that whatever the guy had said was enough to permanently change the topic.

Isabel just shook her head, exasperated.

"He asks if we saw de drinks be open because they could be _spiked_!"

That had everyone rolling their eyes in exasperation except Isabel. She was clearly angry as she texted him back.

"I knew he was a control freak," Jubilee snickered, "but I had not imagined him to have a persecution mania."

Unexpectedly, Isabel glared at her.

"He is _worried_ about me! You want what? Dat he doesn't import if I'm attacked or not?! Hun?"

And she went back to finishing her message. Kitty shrugged as Jenny picked her bag.

"You'd better head over to the shops," she said. "I can't believe we spent nearly two hours sitting here. And I ended up not looking at the handbags I wanted!"

Kitty laughed, telling her not to worry as it was the perfect excuse for another outing as soon as possible.

"Yeah," Jubilee beamed suddenly. "Especially because we won't be able to jump-start Isabel's wardrobe on a single day, right?"

"Hun?" Isabel looked up from the phone. "Start my what?"

Jenny laughed and walked off with a bye-bye that seemed to strengthen Isabel's suspicions over a conspiracy to get at her.

"OK, let's get the cards on the table," Jubilee leaned over, the drama of the last half an hour fading away from her mind. "Creed and us, X-Men, go way back and if there's one thing we _ALL_ know for a _fact_ is that he likes the busty, sexy type of women."

"Jubes…" Kitty groaned.

"What? You know it's true! Anyways," and she turned back to a lip-tight slightly flushed Isabel. "There is nothing like the right clothes to make _any_ woman look busty and sexy. And after today, I _guarantee_, 'your beloved Victor' won't be able to keep his eyes off you no matter what."

Isabel didn't seem particularly enthusiastic, but Jubilee was sure she'd come around once she got the right clothes on. And she knew just what to look for!

Kitty cleared her throat.

"I think what Jubilee is trying to say is that… you've suffered a big loss recently and, naturally, you've been feeling a bit down. Getting new clothes that look good on you, unlike those baggy jeans and T-shirts, might help you feel a bit better, that's all. One thing I know is that, if you want to feel good with yourself, you have to feel good with the way you look. And I'm talking about simple things, not a make-up overdose and over the top clothing."

Isabel looked down and bit her lip. Jubilee felt bad for her. Her miscarriage had been only two weeks ago, but, after that first week of obssessiveness, she seemed to have overcome the matter fairly well. She didn't even appear to be depressed, even though Hank was sure she was, just tired.

"Dis clodes are practical," she said in a low hard voice. "And we can't be late… Victor is worried and he has good motives."

"Don't worry," Jubilee got up. "First of all, we'll get you practical clothes," at least a few items. "Secondly, we're _perfectly _safe! I mean, Mystique is not really going to attack us. Creed's just worried because they used to be lovers and..."

"Jubilee!"

Jubilee had actually jumped at Kitty's scandalised shriek, but then she rolled her eyes.

"Geez! Will you ease up? I'm pretty sure Isabel would rather hear about the guy's ex-lovers from us than, like, being in the dark, right?" She turned to Isabel, staring attentively, her breathing very subdued. "Right?"

The woman remained very still, a head-shaking negative obviously miles from her.

"So, as I was saying, Creed and Mystique go waaaay back. As in _decades_. 'Course that's also 'cause Mystique's powers basically make her immortal, in the sense she doesn't really grow old, you know? It's probably the best thing about being a shape-shifter, that and the fact you can be whoever you feel like. I mean, just imagine being able to change your hair colour to match your mood throughout a single day? Cool, huh?"

Not that she'd have any chance to rock crazy colours during working hours, but it'd still be cool.

* * *

Isabel came out of the changeroom in a cute flower dress, the skirt flaring as she swirled.

"You look great," Kitty said, while trying the same model. "Why don't you try it too, Jubes?"

Floral dresses were definitely not her style so she just stuck her tongue out and grimaced at the shorts. The waist would need fitting... but was she really going to buy them? It wasn't as if she got many chances to wear shorts these days.

"So are you taking it?"

Jubilee looked up at her friends. Isabel was biting her lower lip, obviously torn between yes and no. Despite Kitty being three inches taller than Isabel, with their dark hair and the same dress, they could almost be sisters. In a sudden whim, Jubilee got her mobile out of her bag and joined the other two women.

"Say 'selfie'!" Jubilee shrieked as she pushed the button a few times and then quickly checked the results. "This looks great!"

She laughed at the first photo which had Isabel with a startled look and Kitty with closed eyes, then the other had Isabel rolling her eyes while Kitty was stucking her tongue out and finally a perfect pic of the three smiling.

"You should both totally take those..." The triple beep of an incoming text had her interrupt herself with a grunt. "OK, I know you said he's only making sure you're safe, but texting you every _five_ minutes?! Really?"

Isabel just sighed while Kitty shook her head.

"Don't exagerate, Jubes. He waits nearly ten whole minutes in-between texts."

Isabel groaned and closed herself in the changing room. Jubilee and Kitty looked at one another. It was so irritating! They could barely take a step without hearing a beep from Isabel's bag. That's when Jubilee got the idea and she beamed excitedly at Kitty. Puzzled, the girl came closer only to have Jubilee put her arms around Kitty's shoulders and drag her into another booth, whispering gleefully.

"Let's give him a taste of his own medicine, huh? It'll be a blast!"

"What?" Kitty whizzed back, still puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

But Jubilee was already texting furiously.

"Oh, I just wish I could see his face!"

* * *

Summers might have been right, that the four days they had all spent searching for Mystique in the vicinity of the Institute, Wagner's house and the kid's school had been wasted time. Still, better safe than sorry. Especially because it was preferrable to have other people kidnapped or killed rather than their own women and children. As Creed often reminded Isabel, it was all a matter of priorities.

Going through the rest of the list of people involved with the Parisian auctioning house which worked as a front for the slaver's European cell, Creed was trying very hard not to look distracted. However, it was difficult to keep focused when he knew Isabel was out alone in the big city. He understood perfectly well that she needed to shop for clothes, especialy for the growing Lilia, but he still couldn't stop worrying. The woman had a terrible track sheet when it came to getting in trouble. He turned his back for a second and there she was in need of another rescue. It was almost as if she went out looking for trouble!

His phone beeped and he imediately checked it. "nas compras". Creed growled lightly. He knew she was out shopping, even if only because she had sent the exact same text over eight times now. He was also very much aware she had switched to Portuguese because she was getting fed up with his texts but they had left the house over three hours ago! How long did the four women need to have lunch and buy some clothes? Didn't she realise that the longer she stayed out, the higher the chances of getting in trouble?

"dont repeat same text," he texted back. "Anyone can keep sending it and I wont know it isnt you"

Summers sighed, exasperated, and Creed pretended not to notice it. He had already explained it to them, _several _times. They were just too dumb to get it.

"ok eu estou nas compras"

He _knew_ she was shopping. She had been for the past hour (because it apparently took two whole hours for four women to eat a salad)! Why was she aggravating him?

"Look," Summers ended up saying, "I know how much you're worried about Isabel..."

Creed's heart skipped a beat at the sudden thought that what Summers meant whas how much he _cared_ about her and he burst off the chair with a "I'm _not_..." so appalled even he cringed, while the three guys in the meeting room stared at him with weird expressions. He felt his face flush like a stupid school girl under the men's gazes.

"I ain't worried 'bout _her_," he grabbed the phone to make himself busy. This would be a good time for her to text him again. "I'm just worried that... _somethin'_ could happen an'... _we_'ll _all_ have t'lose precious time rescuein' her. That's all."

"Maybe ya should'ave just tagged along the shoppin' excursion," Logan sneered and Creed almost growled at him only, yes, he should have tagged along. Then he could make sure no one was as much as eyeing her the wrong way.

"Will you calm down and focus on the files? Besides, the more you text, the longer they'll probably take. You know women; it's never a good idea to annoy them when they're shopping."

Creed frowned at Summers and barely held back that his Isabel was not like that. At all. She never annoyed him, at least not on purpose. She might tease him, but that was another story completely. He sat down and grabbed a file. He didn't have the nerve to open it, though. He'd spent he didn't know how many weeks successfully bottling down his every urge – or hint of even a slight wish – to be with the woman and, now that he'd spent some nights with her, it had suddenly become so very difficult to go back to being a block of ice. He was almost physically aching with the need to see her, hear her, smell her, feel her… what if something happened? What if she had a relapse in her recovery? What if she tripped and fell and hurt herself? What if… He decided to text her again. Just to make sure everything was ok.

"Are you really going to keep texting her every five minutes?" Bishop grunted.

Beep beep, the thing vibrated in his hand. Ah, she had texted him of her own volition this time! His mood now much improved, he looked at the screen. Only it was another number that had texted him.

_we r fine jl_

It took him a moment to realise it was Jubilee.

Beep beep. It was her again but this time it was a... selfie. Of Isabel, Jubilee and Pryde in dresses with price tags sticking out. His Nesi was smiling slightly and he felt a wave of relief at seeing her… and then the wave crashed into a swirl of anger and he ground his teeth. Here he was, suffering stupidly over her well-being and safety and what did she do? She frolicked about with those bird-brained girls like there was no danger in the world!

"Photos, huh?"

Bishop briefly peeked at the screen before shaking his head lightly and focusing on the paperwork. This was starting to go beyond aggravating. Beep beep. All the eyes in the room once more slid to the phone. Snarling at the idea it might be the motormouth again, Creed wiped at the screen and stopped breathing. Getting the phone off the table and away from any prying eyes, he gawked at the photo of Isabel, her mouth in a teasingly surprised O as she was taking off her bra. What the...?

Beep, beep.

_is that more 2 ur liking_

What?! He immediately called the brat's number.

"What the FUCK d'ya think ya're doin', ya fuckin' ass?!"

He was almost seeing red!

"Ha!" The girl's cheerful voice chirped from the other side. "I knew you'd, like, _love_ that last one!"

His claws unsheathing, he heard Isabel complaining on the other side, telling Jubilee to stop it, while Pryde was laughing histerically.

"Oh, don't be a killjoy," Jubilee screeched happily. "He _loved_ it, I'm telling you! Aww, come on! Let me take another one, all just for him, I swear. P'etty pwease!"

He was speechless! The whole thing was… he walked around the room and noticed the men at the table looking at him with frowns that seemed amused to his eyes. Creed turned his back to them abruptly.

"Ya better knock this off immediatelly!" He snarled viciously into the phone.

"Ah, just a sec, Isabel. Yeah, Creed, you were saying…?" He growled, aggravated, but the dumb kid just sped on before he could repeat himself. "Anyways, I was thinking that texts can be totally faked by whoever so why don't I just send you some 'proof of life' pics, huh?"

The idea took him aback for a moment because it was actually sound thinking.

"That way you can really kick back and relax and focus on the paperwork, 'cause I know it must be really hard to focus when you have to keep checking on us, right? So, yeah! I'll get off your hair now 'cause I don't want Scotty to chew your ears off over being on the phone and stuff 'cause believe me I_ know_ he gets totally ticked with that kinda stuff and then he nags you to hell and back which is totally crazy 'cause I _know_ for a fact that he…"

Creed hung up and looked back at the meeting table. Logan was looking at the paperwork but he was definitely smirking.

"What was that all about?" Summers asked, with an exasperated frown.

"Jubilation," he answered quietly. "Ya know she doesn't shut up once she starts goin'."

"Can we get some work done?" Bishop grumbled.

Creed ignored him and sat down. Pictures would definitely be better proof of life, as the kid had put it. The phone beeped on the table and he picked it up, looking suspiciously at Summers and Bishop, who were eyeing him with undisguised irritation, and at Logan, who was still smirking at the paperwork. Creed carefully slid the phone under the table and discretly checked what picture might have been sent this time. It was a text from Isabel, though.

_sory jubily is crazy she not repet_

He quickly texted back that it was ok, photos were ok, were even better actually.

_serios_

_yes serious_

He waited a few seconds but then Summers cleared his throat and he ended up leaving the mobile on his lap and picking up the file he'd been going through. Both his hands flew down when the thing beeped though.

_wat tipe foto_

One type in particular, he would have texted back. But the other two kids might just see it and he needed to keep some semblance of concentration on the paperwork anyway.

_a photo of you alive and well_, he ended up sending. The stupid motormouth would keep on sending the risqué type anyway, of that he was sure. And, for once, he hoped the dumb kid didn't give up her dumb antics, at least not today.

Very professionally, he left the phone on his lap and started reading the file. The meanings behind the words were difficult to grasp as his whole body remained alert, expecting the cell to beep any second now, but he still forced himself to read the letters, putting them hollowly together.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	4. The Second One: Captured

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**4\. Second: Captured**

As they walked towards the car, over a dozen bags in their hands, Jubilee and Kitty laughed over a joke involving Emma Frost. Isabel had surreptitiously fallen a couple of steps behind because she needed to think, not to mention she felt tired. After all, it had only been two weeks since… she shook her head. It was not the right time to think about it. She was shopping, having fun… that's what she needed to keep in mind. That much her friends had been spot on.

Besides, the whole experience had turned out so much better than she had expected. She had been afraid the three women would dish out against Victor's constant texting during lunch but instead they'd joked about it, and when Jubilee had decided to start sending photos… It had quickly become so fun, for the three of them. Four of them, she hoped. She really wished that Victor (or worse, Summers) hadn't been annoyed over the nearly constant texts. Jubilee had sent him photos of nearly everything she had tried on, and after the first few dozen, he'd gotten into it and had started texting back which ones he liked best. All in all, a perfect girls' day! So very much better than going with him and then having to hurry up while he pretended he wasn't bored half into a berserker rage. It might be true she wasn't a big fan of shopping, but that was mostly because of crowds. Not to mention she much preferred to go in, get what she was looking for, and get out. Today, though, hadn't been about shopping. It had been about goofing off with some friends and relaxing.

She could barely wait for next week, when they'd come out shopping again, this time with Jenny alongside.

The sound of a photo being taken snapped Isabel out of her thoughts and she smiled at her friends, who'd gotten farther off. She was about to speed up to catch up with them when her phone beeped. Victor never answered Jubilee's texts, and although it suited Isabel just fine, she wouldn't have minded if he answered her a couple of times. It would mean he was getting more at ease with the girl and Isabel really wanted him to warm up to her girl friends.

'dont fall behind'

She didn't need to recognise the last word to know what he meant. She knew well enough the only thing she was doing that could merit her a 'don't' was getting away from the other women.

'so para a foto :*'

She had switched to Portuguese when she had been upset over his constant texting, worried that her friends would start criticising him, but now she just didn't feel like making the effort to use English. After all, he could read Portuguese very well, even if he never wrote in it and his pronunciation was more Spanish than Portuguese. In fact, he could understand the language better in writing than when spoken. She sometimes told him he was a genius for picking up languages, though not too often so he didn't start suspecting ulterior motives. She occasionally pushed the envelope a bit, hoping he would speak more often in it, but he rarely did so. A genius he may be for picking up languages – and she really did think he was – but lazy as all hell to work on it.

'jub can take photos up close so DONT fall behind for photos'

She shook her head with an affectionate smile at his concern. He never did that. She could spend the day with her friends in Creston doing whatever that he never once bothered to text or phone her. He might pretend not to be grumpy when she returned, he might occasionally half-grumble that she had taken forever, but he never encroached on her. Not after that big fight, in their first year in Creston, when she'd told him point blank that controlling behaviour meant a desperately needy man.

She sent him a ':*'.

Jenny was so right: big strong men that decide they can keep their loved ones safe no matter what suffer terribly for their decision. Like her Victor. He must be in gut-wrenching worry to constantly text her in front of the other men, especially when he didn't want them to think he cared for her. She really couldn't let him know all those little things she often did and which he considered dangerous (in his eyes, and she rolled her own). It upset him way too much.

In a sudden whim, she texted him in Portuguese that she felt much safer chatting to him like this. But then she noticed Jubilee and Kitty were already waiting by the car for her to catch up and Isabel hurried up.

"Jubilee, can I ask you one thing? Don't send Victor photos in dat I'm alone or far from you two. He thinks is not safe and den he is more worried." Jubilee laughed but Isabel recognised the mischievous glint in her eyes. Just like Victor's. So she hardened her voice. "I'm serious, Jubes. Don't do dat or I will be very, very angry wid you."

"Fine," the girl shrugged and quickly snapped another photo to send him as Kitty opened the car.

"Oh," Kitty suddenly looked back. "I forgot!"

"Forgot what?"

Kitty groaned. "I promised Peter I'd get him some swim shorts."

Isabel looked at her beeping phone to read the 'much better' text and sighed at the thought of going all the way back to the shops.

"I'm sorry, Kitty," and she was, "but I need to sit a little."

"Oh no," Kitty waved a hand distractedly. "I wouldn't make you go back. We've been walking for over three hours and I'm pretty sure Hank is going to say it's too early for you to make so much effort."

Oh, please! McCoy thought everything was too much for her. She was not a little frail who would break at the first turn. It had taken her so long to convince Victor she was not a fragile weakling and now the doctor came in and started it all anew! How irritating.

"I'm _fine_!" She grumbled and was almost on the verge of insisting they all went back to the shops to prove it, but Jubilee pulled herself onto the car hood and said she was going to take the chance to blitz-text Justin, for a change.

Kitty left her bags and jogged towards the shopping area while Isabel sighed. She was tired. And maybe even a bit sore. Just a bit. She opened the trunk to put the shopping bags and glanced at Jubilee. She was taking selfies to send Justin. Isabel knew she had started the whole 'blitz-texting' to annoy Victor, but it had ended up being much more fun than she had probably antecipated.

Closing the trunk, she opened a door and sat sideways on the back seat then got her cell phone out and sent a text to Victor, warning him Kitty had gone back for a last minute buy.

_are you tired_, he texted back immediately.

_nao_, she answered before wondering how Summers let him spend so much time texting. _nao estas a trabalhar?_

_course im working_

A whole lot of working he must be doing.

_samars nao esta contigo?_

_SUMMERS learn to spell_

As if she'd ever bother. He could understand her written English well enough. What she needed to bother about was getting him over his laziness to start texting in Portuguese.

_yes hes here but he knows I need to check on you_

_chek nao e o mesmo que conversar_, she retorted with a chuckle.

_chatting is the second best way of checking on you after selfies_

Was that him asking her to send him a selfie?

_queres uma selfie minha?_

_you need to ask?_

She laughed and resorted to the well known Portuguese expression for 'I didn't understand'.

_tease_, he sent and then after a few seconds: _obviously_

She chuckled and waited.

_YES_

_pede com jeitinho_, she texted.

He knew that 'asking nicely' really meant 'ask in Portuguese', because she had told him a few times his heavily accented Portuguese was the sexiest thing in the world. And, once more, she had meant it. Especially when he said it over a light growl.

_sim_, he finally sent.

Without losing a moment she lay back on the seat in order to be hidden from view and unbuttoned the top of her shirt until her bra was showing. He'd be particularly happy to see she had her little adamantium dagger properly secured to the bra, in between her breasts. She guessed he'd have wondered about it when he'd seen her photos trying on clothes, but she had figured it would be best to hide the thing from sight or her friends would never stop talking about it.

Isabel sent him a photo and a quick text asking him if he wanted more. A car braked suddenly, making its tyres screech, and she awarded the dumb driver a fleeting piece of advice as she smiled at Victor's Portuguese answer. Oh, yes, that was…

Jubilee's voice produced the strangest yelp she had ever heard and Isabel got up to check on her, a hand pulling the top of her shirt close. Blood froze in her veins as she stepped up and saw two men outside a grey van. They both had these boxy things in their hands, one of which had thin cables spread out all the way to Jubilee's sprawled body on the floor. Taser, her mind finally recognised.

Isabel ducked and sprinted behind a car, her fingers expertly going through the letters hlp and the send button. Victor had made her practice sending short but relevant messages in case of need. One or two words, shortened down to a sort of code and sent in rapid sequence – or whenever she had an opening. Still, she was always to prefer keeping the phone hidden to risking having it taken. With no idea how to write 'grey van' in English, and the Portuguese being too long to risk it, she put the phone away. If only she could see the license plate! That would merit the risk.

She ran as quickly as she could around another car, always keeping herself as low as possible, while buttoning up her shirt. The men were coming after her and she hesitated only half a second as she computed 'my adamantium dagger' vs 'their tasers' = 'overpowered'. The blade could be useful later on even if now wa…

Isabel's body spasmed wildly as the pain flashed through her agonisingly. What felt like an eternity later, her breathing seemed to resume itself but her body didn't react to her instinct of getting up and away. Actually, it wasn't just her body; her mind couldn't do much more either. In fact, it could only cling to the hope that the men wouldn't get rid of her phone just yet because Victor's phone, not the one the X-Men had given him but the other he had had back when he'd first joined them; Victor's phone had an app that allowed it to locate her own phone.

She felt the men pick her up roughly and take her to the van. She'd ask Victor to put more of those locators on a set of earrings, necklace and ring, her mind brightened suddenly. Then he'd have plenty of failsafes if he ever needed to come after her ASAP.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	5. Isabel's Secrets

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**5\. Isabel's Secrets**

Isabel's head throbbed in the dark. Lying on an apparently paper thin matress covering a cement or stone floor (at least it felt hard enough to be so), Isabel tried in vain to see anything beyond the black fabric of the bag or hood or whatever the men had put over her head as they had thrown her into the van.

She was in some basement of sorts, that much she was confident. The moment the van had parked and the men had forced her out, it had taken barely over a dozen steps to the stairs that had taken her down to her present location. One of those suburban houses with a garage set into the building perhaps?

She tried to hear voices in the silence of the musty place, the hardness of the floor bruising her wrists, still tied behind her back, but there was nothing to hear.

"Take the feisty one upstairs. She'll quiet down soon enough," one of the captors had said as Isabel had been forced down the stairs. "The cell phones?"

She hadn't heard the answer, but it was obvious they had gotten rid of them. Isabel took a deep breath and hoped Victor had been able to get a good idea of their location nonetheless. She felt frightened for Jubilee. What would they… Oh, please, she prayed to Our Lady, please don't let them… hurt her. And please, lead Victor to us (if he hadn't been able to track her through the phone app) before… anything bad happens. Because Victor would go insane if she got hurt, she was sure he would. He had been so insistent he would never let anyone hurt her again! And she couldn't stop thinking about their conversation over lunch, about how some men have a hard time dealing with loss. Not that anyone was going to die or get seriously hurt, God and Our Lady willing, but still…

Isabel prayed. What else could she do, after all? She prayed and she waited for someone to come for her. Either Victor or…

* * *

I have the image of Jubilee ahead of me. Even as they take me towards the stairs, my heart numb but my eyes sharp on the men's faces and on the shut windows, even then I still have the image of Jubilee ahead of me, barely conscious. It was the first thing I saw when they took the hood off me. She did not seem physically hurt, although her forehead and her wrists had reddish stripes.

I follow the men's lead up the wooden stairs, in badly need of cleaning and general maintenance. I don't struggle; what for? There are at least two men with guns downstairs, and the two who are taking me up have white coats like doctors or the mad scientists in the underground bunker back when. I pray relentlessly, though.

I can only think of Victor as I approach that fateful door. They didn't hurt Jubilee physically, so they must have hurt her… what's the word? Whatever! They must have telepaths. God, they do! The board with the restraints is the first thing I see and it's almost the same as… no, the other had metal restraints. But it's the same! I can only think of my baby girl and when I will see her again, can only think of Victor and…

The board is hard on my back and, over and over, I see Victor bursting in and killing everyone in sight. Then they put the cold straps around my head, and its icy feel freezes the hope inside me. I know what is next, and I fear it. Lilia, Victor... I mustn't think about them, or the telepaths will see them and will know... I must think only of blood and death... Their death. Painful, harrowing, hellish. But my heart beats like mad and I'm so afraid, remembering – but I must not! It's their death, not mine; their pain, not mine; their... all theirs. All theirs.

They don't as much as look at me, though; they just look at the machines, and I see the big screen behind them and frown. They're preparing the computers and I look at the big black screen, but I can't remember them having a screen the other time. The fear grips my insides with claws of ice, and I refuse to try and remember details because it's their death I must focus on, like Victor taught me, not memories. Especially not my memories, not...

I feel the current go through me all of a sudden, and the fear forgets itself for a moment. My skin tingles and my hair rises slightly because of the stactic electricity, and this is all new for me. There should be a voice, a presence in my mind, not electricity producing painful shocks when my hand and fingers approach the edge of the board I'm strapped to.

One of the men comes to my side, a flipchart in hand, and doesn't even look at me when he asks me about the location of the kitchen in the Institute. (The kitchen?!) They should be looking at me, one of them at least, looking me in the eyes and doing his best to enter my mind. My stomach revolves under the stir of a sudden nausea, and I feel the tingling increase, and I can't understand anything. But in front of me the screen shows me the eyes that should be there, delving into my mind, for everyone to see. And everyone in the room is indeed looking at the screen, studying those eyes from my memories, and His face, brutish and beastly.

But it's not memories I should focus on! Victor told me... and I see him, on the screen, speaking sternly and voicelessly...

"This is even better! Keep her on this line of thought, Jackson."

No, no! Death and blood must be the only thoughts in my mind; it's what Victor told me... it's what he's telling me right now on the damned screen...

"Where did you first see Sabretooth? What was he doing?"

Fear's nausea overcomes the contraption's when I see, before my very eyes, the jeep in the woods with the German woman rocking to and fro, and the man hollering silently on the road, and the other man coming to kick me, and Victor... Victor...

"This one ain't got no training at all, Doctor Truman. It's a freeking jackpot!"

I feel the tears streaming down my face and the screen changes again and I see Him, the Doctor, grinning; his fingers slithering down my arm. And I can feel _him_! I can feel _him_, again! And even though I know why I'm seeing him, and the telepath, getting ready to come inside me again; even though I know why, my body convulses and I strain my arms and legs against the board until the pain of the plastic handcuffs cuts off the repulse of his touch.

"Fighting will only make it hurt, darling; just let us see... open your mind, and let us see."

Behind him, an orderly has headphones and a cushioned visor. I know those: they're for cutting me off from the world and make myself lose touch from the reality. They're for locking me inside my mind, and then they'll give me the verbal and visual cues they feel necessary to keep my thoughts, my memories, flowing the way they want. My body thrashes harder whithout my even noticing and I know those nauseating memories will become even more real, their touch even more present.

The pain cuts through my wrists and ankles and I feel the blood making the straps slippery, but not less painful. I want to scream and send them all to hell, but my voice is caught in my throat and will not be freed: I do not scream. Not for them, not for their fun and pleasure. I do not. Ever. May Saint Mary help me!

_Ave Maria, gratia plena_

They force the visor on my head, strapped to the board, and attach it to the head phones.

_Sancta Maria, Mater Dei_

I can't hear it, but the little screws reverberate through an eternity as they're fastened.

_Ora pro nobis peccatoribus_

And then it starts.

_Ora pro nobis Ave Maria_

I close myself, repeating the words 'Ave Maria' over and over. Nothing else can exist outside the bright light of Her caring and support. Nothing else. Ave Maria. Their words pound my ears but I refuse to understand them. Ave Maria. I don't know English. Ave Maria. I don't know. I can't. Ave… The electric current paralises my muscles for an excruciating moment, but there's no pain they can put me through that will open my eyes to their images or my ears and understanding to their words. I command my mind, not them or their pain, that they're inflicting on me. I'm ready. Ave Maria, gratia plena.

The next bolt is stronger, but I am expecting it and even though I forget for an instant where I am, they cannot win. The soothing brightness of the Virgin Mary is all I'm giving them. The bright, unsurmountable wall of faith in the protection of Saint Mary. The pain recedes but doesn't fade away, and then grows again to engulf me in a wave of fire that halts my breath. But even not breathing has a soothing calm that strengthens the safety of the brightness embracing me. I focus on it so completely I can't even tell where I am, or why, or how, or who. All I know is that I'm safe, in my cocoon of motherly protection, my cocoon of pain. Ave Maria. Ora pro nobis, Sancta Maria.

My mind and body jerk and twitch when the brightness becomes red and black, but all is well for as long as the pain is just that. Pain. Bright and meaningless, nauseatingly blind, excruciatingly thoughtless. Pure, maddening pain. Ave Maria.

And then he touches me.

It feels like vomit slithering through my arm and I can't avoid the spasm that wreaks my muscles harder than the very pain that is still biting. And his grip tightens and I can't escape. I can't shut him out, them, reaching for my body instead of my mind. I can't! I forget the words of the prayer that should keep me safe and I thrash wildly and the very pain is but a slight sting next to those hot, sweaty hands, rancid, on my flesh. I flail and squirm and writhe but their hands don't lose their hold; and now my wrists are the ones suffering the brunt of the pain, the bonds biting harder and deeper into the bloodied wounds. And I cannot escape them because they're everywhere. My stomach heaves and so does my body, and I wish the bonds would cut through the very bone so I could get away from this board, this room, them. him. Heavy, slimy, ruthless, inevitable. I retch, and I can't break free. God! Saint Mary!

My hands and fingers twitch in blind convulsions searching for something, anything – a knife, a screwdriver, a shard of glass, of sharp plastic, teeth, nails. But even if my hands found a weapon, they'd still be bound – to the board, to the wall, the floor, the leach. They never allow me a moment of free hands, a single one, no matter what happens. Nor do they allow me a moment of light, for my eyes or for my mind, so I can't see when they're coming, where they're going to touch me next, hit me, cut me. So I can't see anything that will let me know whether it's my body they're working over, or my mind, or both at the same time.

But torture me as they may, they can't win. They can turn my mind and body into their playground; they can put anything they want inside me... He still cannot as much as glimpse into me, my mind, my secrets. Those are mine and he, they, will never have them. And, the Virgin willing, my hands will be free, one day, and then it'll be me doing the hurting, it will be me ripping out his, their, hearts. Cutting them open and tying them down with their own enthrails. See how long it takes them to die. The day I cut myself lose. I'll need only my hands and teeth, if I still have them, and I'll...

A knife...

My mind is suddenly clear and, my eyes wide open in the pitch black nothingness of the visor, I know my right arm is free and there's a knife securely gripped in my hand. And their hands have left my body for an instant, a moment of relief before a hand clamps over my wrist. There is no time to think: I twist my wrist and flail the knife as much as I can without risking losing my grip and he releases me. There must be yelling and guards coming in – may the Lord and the Virgin protect me from their hands – and I need to see and hear. I need to release my head.

My free hand finds the contraption over my eyes and ears and pushes them away, even as my mind recalls that both visor and headphones and my very head are bolted to the board. But then something snaps on the right side and I'm blinded by the light as I peel off the machines and reach for my left wrist – to cut off its plastic handcuff (weren't they always metal?) – and then for my ankles. I miss the handcuffs in my hurry, but the knife slices just as easily through the board and I just steer it back and I'm free. Yet knives don't cut like that.

I look up and there are the white coats. He is not here, though, they aren't – the Telepath and the Doctor. But the guards will be, and the memory of their hands on me has me moving fast. The white coats yell and push one another out of the way to escape but I slice through the back of the last one, the blade sliding smoothly through flesh and back bone. Too smoothly: knives skid and rebound off bones. I leap onto another one and he falls under me, the blade cutting through his very skull. A third and a fourth one are making it to the door. And there are the guards, on the doorway (why wooden frame? It should be a metal frame, shouldn't it?), only two. And I know this isn't real. It's him again, the Telepath, putting a little film inside my mind, trying to make me believe I'll escape so he can follow in the shadows and peep into my secrets.

I get up and charge the guards, slashing the white coat who was trying to push pass them. They're only two anyway, and they don't even have their usual weapons – the tasers and the clubs and the... Handguns! It's the only thing they have, handguns! They shoot and my fantasy knife cuts through them both like they're cloth dolls. Or even less.

The last white coat is on the floor, scurrying away on his hands and knees. When will he send Victor's image in? Now or after I finish all the white coats? Maybe later, when I'm lost in the building or facing a greater number of guards. Yes, that sounds more likely. But first, may Our Lady forgive me for it is the only language these monsters understand, first I'll show him just how I'm going to kill him, them.

The man swirls around, facing me, trying to protect himself with his hands. But the knife slices through arms and hands and fingers – what a wonderful thing this knife is! – and soon he can't put anything else between his chest and my knife, between his heart and my hand.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	6. The Rescue

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**6\. The Rescue**

The group had approached furtivously. Wolverine first, followed by Cyclops and Shadowcat, then Beast and Tigard, with Bishop closing the formation. Their target was a suburban house, lying sleepily beyond the overgrown grass of the garden and the slightly decrepit "For Sale" sign. It was in a row of houses similarly signalled, all looking rather dejected under the light of the lampposts.

Behind the fence from a neighbouring house, Cyclops explained the plan: he and Wolverine would enter through the front door while Beast, Tigard and Bishop would enter through the back door. Shadowcat would go in first, though, approaching the house from underground and ascerting Jubilee's and Isabel's location. Once she did that, she would contact the men, who could then storm in and capture everyone for questioning.

"No killing unless it's absolutely necessary," he further stressed, staring hard at Tigard. "And keep in mind that both Bishop and Beast can set off your bracelets' discharges. As much as I understand that you want to kill everyone who's been involved in Isabel's kidnapping, you WILL keep yourself in check and in control. YOU do NOT kill anyone."

The blond mutant snarled, spiteful.

"I said I wouldn't, didn't I?"

"Which is the only reason I agreed on your coming. Don't make me regret it."

"Don't ya worry 'bout me, One-Eye. Just make sure Isabel is safe, and doesn't get hurt when this freekin' army o' yers goes barging in." The mutant's gaze shifted to the house, studying it. "A single man would do this job much more quickly and with much less danger of her getting caught in crossfire."

"Yeah, and you're the 'single man' to do that, huh?"

Tigard growled at Bishop but didn't get his eyes away from the two storey building in front of him.

And then the chaos started. The six X-Men froze for a second, under the unexpected yelling for guards, frantic and hysteric. Wolverine and Tigard were the first to move, as coordinated as if it had been the original plan all along, and the others sped immediately behind. The front door wasn't the closest entry, because a wide bay window stood invitingly before it and the two men did not hesitate a fleeting second. But while Wolverine landed on his feet with his usual prowess, Tigard fell on his hands, breathing hard and his vision blurred after the shock to his nervous system. Beast lept in next, followed by Bishop, who quickly followed Wolverine into the hallway, past the door of the room they had landed in.

Tigard was already getting up, ready to follow the two men and the sound of gunfire, but Beast clamped a hand on his shoulder. "I will not refrain from forcing you down with another discharge, Tigard, if I see you ready to mangle anyone. You gave us your word you would not kill tonight."

"Don't worry, asshole" the mutant gasped, "I wouldn't dream o' cuttin' in into Wolverine's prerogative."

The delay was enough to allow both Cyclops and Shadowcat passage into the hallway before Tigard and Beast. The gunfire had all but died down, too, when the two entered the hallway. They saw Shadowcat phasing through the floor to the basement and Wolverine and Bishop ignoring the bodies on the stairs as they started up. Cyclops turned back at them and pointed a finger at Tigard.

"You stay here and assist Shadowcat when she gets Jubilee off the basement."

Tigard snarled, his anger on edge. Isabel was upstairs, amidst all the blood and death and fear that he could easily smell. Like hell he was staying there when his Nesi needed him. He took a step up towards the mighty chief-in-command, but Beast's hand gripped his arm and stopped him, snarling grudgingly. Wolverine and Bishop stopped moving up the stairs precisely at the same time Beast stopped Tigard, and everyone looked up, ready to see the obstacle the two men were facing and to take appropriate action.

Up on the first floor was Isabel. Her hair was disheeveled and coated in blood on the right side of the head; her face was covered in blood freckles; her shirt open, showing her bra and a small knife sheath; her right hand was gripping the knife while a human heart in her left hand dripped blood on the wooden floor.

No one moved for a moment, the X-Men taking in the uncanny sight, the woman's wide eyes staring blankly at them.

"My stars and garters," Beast whispered softly before letting go of Tigard's arm and summoning his most reassuring doctor voice, "Isabel..."

It broke the spell. In a swift movement, she threw the heart at Wolverine and Bishop, and reached for the corridor to her left. Wolverine and Bishop lept three steps and once more stopped, because Isabel came rushing back, well out of their reach, handgun steady on them. Beast called out to her again, but the woman's eyes were trained only on the two men on the stairs. Wolverine unsheathed his claws slowly. The woman's hands were steady, not the slightest tremblor. If he could handle the shot without a flinch, Bishop could not.

Just then, Shadowcat emerged from the ground with an angry Jubilee, both unaware of the draw at the staircase. The surprise jolted the woman's body at the same time as Cyclops took his hand to the visor. Tigard, who had glanced at the two girls, saw the man's movement and lept at him without as much as a growl. Just as the blond crashed into Cyclops, both Cyclops's visor and Isabel's gun went off. The red shot missed its target and hit Bishop, who lost his balance, while the bullet grazed Wolverine's neck.

"Scott!"

Beast hurried to the fallen man while pressing the button that would let out a powerful discharge straight into Tigard's nervous system, but the murdering mutant was already on the stairs, howlering, and Beast pushed the button again, trying to cause a discharge strong enough to maybe knock the monster off. They'd have to readjust the values of the discharge.

Cyclops wasn't hurt, though, since Tigard hadn't used his claws, and Beast turned around to see Logan down on the steps, holding his blood-spurting neck, while Tigard grabbed a still off-balance Bishop and pushed him out of his way. Cyclops swore and pushed his own button, before taking a hand to his visor. On the upper floor, Tigard tripped on his own feet and wobbled against the ballister and then against the wall opposite it while Isabel emptied the gun on him.

"Nesita!" The woman stopped, gasping, before Cyclops could shoot a second round. "Estás segura..."

Isabel's hands trembled.

"Estás... segura... Nesi… ya're… ya're safe..."

But still she remained frozen, the gun aimed at him.

"Soy yo... Nesi…" Tigard's knees gave in and he leaned against the wall, ripping off his mask with trembling hands and managing to cut himself in the process. "Ves… mi Nesita? Sou eu…"

Gasping, he slid down the wall and Isabel lowered the gun, her whole frame shivering.

"Victor..." He said, before repeating his name using Isabel's accent. "Veetohr... Sou eu, Veetohr..."

"Veetohr?"

"Sim," he nodded, breathing hard, his body going limp on the floor.

Isabel blinked a few times, taking an uncertain step forward, then lunged into his arms, which made an effort to embrace her, almost unsuccessfully. Creed closed his eyes and muttered softly "S'okay, ya're safe... ya're safe... nobody's... gonna hurt ya... ya're safe", and forced a hand up to cup her head, snuggly sheltered against his neck.

But even as Creed breathed in audible gasps and Isabel's choked sobs shook her body, there wasn't really a pause in action. Cyclops was getting up while Jubilee had flown to Wolverine's side, brushing Bishop away, who had stooped to check on his companion.

"Can't believe the darned woman aimed right at the darned jugular!" Was the first thing Logan uttered, trying to shoo Jubilee and her worries away.

Bishop followed the corridor to the left and returned, glancing at Isabel and Tigard.

"They're all dead on that side."

"Excellent! Just as planned!"

Cyclops climbed the stairs and put a hand on Jubilee's shoulder, guiding her out of the staircase so that Beast could go through.

"I hope you know who those men were, because we sure aren't getting anything useful from their bodies."

The young woman looked at Isabel, sobbing in Tigard's arms, and sighed.

"Not Church of Humanity, I'll tell you that."

Then she looked at the bodies on the floor and walked into the room, signalling Cyclops to follow her.

Having also been shooed away by Logan, Beast made his way to Isabel, wondering how much of that blood was hers. The moment he reached a hand to gently touch her shoulder, though, Creed pushed it away in a swift but sloppy movement. When the mutant opened his bloodshot eyes, Beast was glad the man didn't have enough strength in him to do more than that sloppy gesture, as his protective instincts might have lead him to fight Beast away even if Isabel needed his attention.

"Ya ever..." and Creed took a deep breath to clear his hoarse voice and control his still ragged breathing, in vain. "Ya ever put me... through that... again... I rip... I rip yer liver... out... ya understand..."

Beast knew better than to heed the threats, though. He simply stated, calmly, that he needed to observe Isabel, who might be hurt. Creed's eyes begged for blood, as he strove to embrace Isabel's body protectively.

"She's _fine_!"

Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and gently pulled Isabel from her refuge.

"Nesi..." he whispered, "look at me."

But his strength was far from returning so he couldn't fully push her away from him.

"Shush, mi Nesita," he said softly, getting a better hold of her shoulders. "Look at me… com'on."

Sniffing, she straightened up.

"Shush now, Nesi… Ya're safe."

The woman's eyes were red from crying, her face was streaked with tears and stained with blood splatters. Creed held her gaze for a few moments while the sobs subsided, and when he fancied she was calmer, he asked her if she was hurt. She took a shivering breath and shook her head no. The mutant nodded, accepting her statement, but his amber eyes studied her upper body, checking for any blemishes.

The blood coating the hair on the right side of her head had come from a cut that had grazed the top of her ear and probably the scalp, too. It seemed a minor scratch, though, unlike her wrists. The right one still had a plastic handcuff around it. Creed held her arm still while he tried to slip a claw under the material and cut it off. However, his motor skills were still affected by the previous discharges to his nervous system, and he couldn't hit the slender strip with his claw.

"You're trembling." Creed looked up at Isabel, aggravated. "I shoot you..."

"It ain't a handful o' bullets that's gonna put me down, Nesi." He directed Beast, crouching next to them, a murdering gaze. "It was 'em assholes who decided ta discharge my bracelets... Can't feel my fingers right, yet."

Creed closed and opened his hand a couple of times before trying again.

"Hold still, will ya!"

The claw nearly grazed the maimed flesh but the handcuff was gone. It didn't look good. The thin plastic strip had cut severely into the flesh over a nearly one inch band of the wrist. He reached for her other wrist to survey a similar damage. She would be in a world of pain once the shock wore off.

"Isabel," Creed snarled at Beast immediately, but the blue mutant ignored him. "We need to sanitise your wounds as soon as possible..."

Beast hesitated, taking in the sudden tensing of the woman's muscles and the fear in her eyes, how her breathing rate increased and she unconsciously moved her body closer to Creed's. He wet his lips and softened his voice, forcing a relaxing smile.

"Victor will take you downstairs. Then we will all go back to the Institute and we'll have all those nasty cuts cleaned. Is that OK?"

Isabel seemed to relax somewhat, but she looked at Creed first, before saying anything. The mutant scoffed and it was Beast who glared at him.

"Isabel needs medical attention, Creed."

Creed grinned at the blue mutant's glare and glanced softly to his left, where Cyclops, Bishop and Wolverine were listening to Jubilee, explaining how they had used the machinery to go inside her mind. He overheard her mention Bastion's technology, with a twist, she said. He didn't know exactly what technology Bastion used, but he was well versed on all the mind-violating technology governments and terrorist organizations alike used, whether they were anti-mutant or anti-flatscans or anti-whoever.

Gently, he held Isabel's right wrist in both hands and licked it, feeling the shot of pain that cursed through her body in its tensed shivering. The taste of her blood was unmistakable, allowing him to tell how much of the blood on the wound belonged to her and to her victims. Despite Beast's disgusted protest, he engulfed the entire wound in his mouth, then sucked on it a bit. Isabel hissed, arching her back, and her left hand squeezed his leg, but Creed continued sucking and licking the whole wound clean, as methodically and carefully as he could.

"What on earth is he doing?"

Creed ignored Beast's reply to the shocked Kitty and proceeded to repeat the process on Isabel's left wrist. When he was happy with the results he looked up at Isabel, lips pursed in a tight line and a few fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. If it hadn't been for the public, he would have kissed her until the pain was all gone. As it was, he just licked his own lips, tasting the blood on them.

"Can ya stand an' walk?"

Isabel nodded but waited for Creed to help her up. Everyone was looking at them, Beast informing the colleagues they would leave immediately because Isabel was in need of medical attention. Nevertheless, the mutant's amber eyes were set on the room where Wolverine and Jubilee were now talking quietly, past the bodies on the floor; and that's where he went, instead of going down the stairs. Beast was getting angry now, but Creed figured he still had time. He quickly appreciated Isabel's handiwork on the white coat whose chest had been carved open blindly, and then entered the room with the computers and the big screen.

Creed spotted Isabel's knife, which she had gotten rid of when she had gone for the handgun, in Wolverine's hand and snarled. The room's windows had been covered so that the strong lights couldn't be seen from the outside, and the board both Jubilee and Isabel had been strapped to was directed to the screen. It was a set of state of the art technology put together carelessly, with colourful cables streaming the floor near the walls.

"Do I have to zap you again to get your attention, Creed?" Cyclops was standing at the doorway, arms crossed. "We are leaving."

It was an order that would not be ignored, and even Creed wouldn't dare to, not with a threat he knew the One-Eye would fulfil, and definitely not after being zapped so badly.

"My knife."

Everyone in the room looked at Isabel and Creed was relieved, hoping she might buy him some time. Logan looked at the knife and tested its weight in his hand.

"Pure adamantium. Ya don't come by this type o' blade easily."

Creed noticed that, although Isabel had gotten herself together, her eyes were slightly glaced over and her voice was much too detached.

"I know." She pronounced the vowels slowly, aloft, intentionally. "Victor order it made especially to me."

The blond studied Wolverine's deeper frown, half expecting a provocation, but the man simply held the knife by its blade and stretched his arm out, so that Isabel could retrieve it. When Isabel didn't move, Creed retrieved it himself.

Cyclops looked at the blond mutant with undisguised irritation.

"Got everything you need?"

Snarling at the man, Creed turned to leave.

"Should'ave used my claws on ya," he spat at Cyclops as he was reaching the door, eyes filled with hate.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	7. Aftermath

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**7\. Aftermath**

Lilia was spending the night with Zelig, and Wagner had promised Creed he wouldn't leave the child unattended not even for five minutes. That meant he didn't have to worry about his daughter's safety for the time being and could instead focus on his woman.

"Ya gonna take 'em sedatives..."

"I'm fine," she mumbled for the millionth time. It was nearly the only thing she had said ever since getting back to the Institute.

"The pain o' the psychic attack..."

"I'm fine."

"...and o' those wounds..."

"I'm fine."

"... is gonna hit ya fast an' hard 'fore..."

"I'm fine."

"Like hell ya are! If McCoy wants ya ta take 'em sed..."

"I'm fine."

He growled, closing his fists. He wanted nothing but to break lose and kill everyone around, though preferably those Church of Humanity assholes, and Isabel was not helping. He grabbed her by the chin and forced her glazed over eyes to meet his. Her pale skin felt so cold.

"Ya listen t'me, woman," he saw her lips move, getting ready to repeat her dumb mantra. "Ya're gonna take the sedatives an' that's it. Got it?"

Her mouth closed into a thin line and her body shivered but she didn't say anything else. He almost knelt down on the bed, next to her, and held her tight. Almost. But McCoy came closer and started explaining what he was going to do.

"I'm fine," she said in a hoarse whisper.

"Just give her the drugs already," he grunted to the doc.

He stood by the bed as McCoy dealt with the wrist wounds. Fists closed so hard it nearly hurt, Creed clenched his teeth at every shudder of his woman's body and held back a snarl every time she strangled a whimper. He knew she shouldn't have gone out. He knew it could be dangerous. He knew she was always getting into trouble. He _knew_.

"Ya ain't ever leavin' this place without me again," he growled. "_Ever_."

He noticed McCoy's disagreeing glance but he couldn't care less about him right now. He knew the woman wouldn't obey unless she wanted to and she needed to obey him on this because no way was he going to put up with more kidnappings. He had nearly had a fit when he'd gotten her text!

"Are ya listenin' t'me?" She looked over to him, her eyes still unnaturally dull. "I don't want ya goin' nowhere without me, ya understand?"

She blinked and didn't say anything, which was actually a good sign. Of course she was still reeling from the attack; in another week or two she might start thinking differently. Damn her stubborness! How the hell was he supposed to keep her safe when she kept waltzing towards every possible threat?

"Now all you require is to lie down and attempt to repose," McCoy said gently, and she obeyed.

Wasn't that a miracle, the woman yielding to a doctor! Creed shook his head.

"I'm fine," she whispered.

But she wasn't. Couldn't be further!

McCoy left the room and Creed looked down at his Nesi. Livid and frail. He sat softly on the edge of the bed and ran a finger lightly over her cheek, which earned him a feeble smile.

"I'm fine," and he could hear the effort she put into making her voice reassuring. "You saved me."

So what else was new?

"Promise, my sweet Nesi," he whispered. "Promise ya won't go nowhere without me."

She sighed and he insisted, eager to say almost anything to get her promise.

"Ya knows I was worried sick all day and when I saw yer text..."

The smile was anxious to make up for the day's hell, but it lacked the strength and she knew it.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Creed leaned over to kiss her forehead. He had to make sure she understood how dangerous the situation was.

"If they had been smart enough ta ditch the phones before they got t' the house, we would have taken _days_ ta find ya, Nesi. Ya was lucky like all hell! But ya don't got yer phone no more 'cause they destroyed 'em all. Ya know what that means, right? I won't have nuthin' ta track ya with if there's a repeat. An' this is the X-Men headquarters, my sweet. It's a freakin' target fer anti-mutants and way too many mutants. You an' Lilia are safe _within_ the buildin', within the grounds, but once ya go outside…"

To be fully honest, even within the building there was always a slight chance of an attack, but it was as close to safe as it got. He didn't want her to fear for their safety constantly, even because direct attacks had been rare in the latest years.

"Since these assholes can't come in to attack, they wait outside fer a chance ta hit when no one expects. This ain't Creston, my sweet. I ain't sayin' ya hav'ta be stuck inside 'cause I'm jealous nor anythin' o' the sort. It really is a matter o' safety. Ya do understand that, don't ya?"

She nodded weakly and he kissed her forehead again, her eyes, her cheeks, her lax lips.

"Promise," he tried hard to avoid the Spanish accent and veer towards something more Portuguese sounding. "I'll go with you anywhere you want to go. I'll tag along for eight straight hours of shopping and I won't say a word against anything. I'll even pretend to have fun through the whole thing! Just promise me you won't leave without me. Promise, mi Nesita. Please."

Her brown green-speckled eyes shone at his attempt to speak her language. He really should work harder at picking it up. He could already understand it very well, it was really the speaking he never made an effort with. Always the same old expressions, always falling back to Spanish vocabulary. He didn't even know why he didn't try to improve. It made her so happy, the rare occasions he tried to speak in Portuguese, even if it ended up being more Spanish than anything.

"I don't leave de house if you say is not okay. Promise." She said it in English, probably to make certain he wouldn't think she was setting up a backdoor to her promise, and Creed couldn't stop the sigh of relief. "Please, don't worry."

As if he wouldn't. Her cold hand lay stifly on his leg and she tried to smile reassuringly again.

"Get some sleep."

But she didn't want to, and he could smell the apprehension on her.

"Here," he got his own phone and gave it to her. "Ya can keep my phone. That way ya can call me or text me every time ya want 'stead of havin' ta use the phone Summers gave Lilia. I'll hav'ta erase everythin' ya text me, and ya gotta keep calls to a minimum, but... ya'll be able ta contact me anytime ya want. Ok? And I mean _any_ time. Fer whatever reason; makes no nevermind. Ok?"

She smiled, mouthing a Portuguese thanks, and he turned off the password requirement. Then he slid the phone under the bed sheets and told her the PIN number, made sure she reapeated it twice.

"Now ya'll be able ta sleep with no worries, won't ya?"

But she still didn't want to; he could see it in her expression. He leant down and kissed her lips softly.

"Sleep safely," he whispered in broken Portuguese. "I'll be watching over you."

She kept her hand on his leg and unwillingly closed her eyes.

* * *

"Keeping Isabel confined isn't necessarily in her best interest," Hank explained as he led Creed to Scott's office. "Not only does she require a distraction from the sorrows her unfortunate miscarriage has brought forth, she also needs to feel safe in her environs, and your request to remain inside the Institute at all costs will only strengthen the sense of general physical insecurity as well as additional anxieties stemming from distinct concerns."

Creed did not answer, though. What for anyway, if Isabel had already promised to stay put? Let the good doctor fret and preach to the walls. Besides, he should know very well how often they got attacked.

Scott's office had been prepared with a row of chairs, and some were already occupied by Logan, Jubilee and Bishop while Kitty and Scott conferenced over his desk. As Creed and Hank entered, the blue doctor motioned the blond towards the chairs before taking one for himself.

"Sit down, Creed," Scott directed casually as Kitty nodded and walked over to the other side of the room. "We're ready to start."

"First things first."

Scott frowned, not understanding the other man's words, and waited for a clarification.

"I brought the damn woman here so you and yer circus monkeys would keep her safe," Scott scoffed lightly as he realised where they were headed, "and you, assholes, not only didn't keep her safe, ya also decided that she needs t'be attacked!"

"Attacked? Are you insane?" No red shades could disguise the disbelief on Scott's face. "I was aiming at the gun, Creed! I wasn't going to hurt her."

"Oh, 'course not. Who? You? I mean, when the hell was hittin' her hands with a ray o' kinetic force gonna hurt her!"

Hidden behind the shades, Scott rolled his eyes in frustration while Beast leaned over to Kitty, whispering he should have brought some popcorn. Creed was simmering. His fists were so tight, his knuckles were white; and his voice was soaking with barely restrained violence as he hissed through clenched teeth that the woman was as harmless as a newborn.

That was jarring at best and everyone frowned at Creed. Bishop was the only who had voice at the moment to echo "harmless?"

"Creed..." And Beast got up to get the blond's attention off Scott, who was shaking his head in a now angry disbelief. "We all understand you possess a high level of protectiveness towards Isabel where external threats are cocerned, but... How should I put this? A person who is holding a handgun – and I'll overlook for the moment the fact that said hypothetical person might have already removed someone's heart forcibly while the victim was still breathing – ; a person holding a handgun and showing no qualms about pulling the trigger can't truthfully be considered..."

"She's. _Harmless_."

"Oh, fer cryin' out loud!" Logan burst. "The woman killed six people with a knife and ripped a man's heart out!"

Cyclops groaned, frustrated, while the psychopath snarled viciously and both ferals unsheathed claws.

"You have better keep yer mouth shut, ya bastard!" Kitty grunted that the meeting was turning into a circus, but no one seemed to hear her under the growling. "Ya pulled yer claws at her!"

"Oh, yeah, and I was obviously gonna slice her up next. How can anyone be so freekin' stupid, Creed! I was gonna swing at the gun! Like everyone else who just wanted t'get the blasted gun off her hands!"

Beast dropped back on the chair.

"Salty and a slab of butter. Why did I not foresee the need for popcorn?"

"She had just been through Hell and ya all think it was perfectly OK t'just attack her?! Who's the fucking' psychopath in this place? She was out o' her mind wi' _fear_! She was defending herself!"

"Always a great reason to rip somebody's heart off," Bishop scoffed to no one in particular.

"And you..." Creed took a deep breath and lowered his voice to a murdering growl, "You couldn't take a couple bullets 'fore takin' the gun off her hands? Ya had t' attack her with yer claws?"

Jubilee was getting upset at the growing threat in Sabretooth's stance, especially since no one seemed particular interested in zapping the guy a few times to get him in a shorter leash.

"And ruin Logan's fun?" Pointed out Bishop, annoyed at the circus, like Kitty had put it.

"I nearly got myself killed when I got 'tween you an' those toxic slugs... I could've just left ya behind when ya ignored my warnings, but no. I went after ya, an' I pulled yer sorry ass back ta safety while I was gettin' shot and YOU couldn't fuckin' repay me by NOT attackin' Isabel?! She's a fuckin' _HARMLESS_ FRAIL!"

Creed's thundering voice had grown to a paroxysm of barely held-back violence when the metal tray was brought, full force, against the metal cabinet, the sound waves reverberating in a sharp screeching echo. All eyes were suddenly on Kitty, and even the two feral mutants adjusted their stance to take on any new assailant.

"Well, now that I finally have your attention," and she carelessly threw the now broken tray onto the sofa while walking to the desk at which Scott was peevedly sitting, "and that we have all gotten off our chests our feelings about what went wrong in Isabel's extraction, why don't we move on to what those people were trying to achieve, huh?"

Logan and Creed exchanged a heated glare while Kitty signalled Scott, who promptly pushed the button that had metal shutters cover the windows and the flat screen descend from the ceiling, just behind the desk.

"Logan. Creed. Will you both sit down and listen? You might find the information I've collected tonight a bit more interesting than yelling at one another. I hope."

The two men glared silently while sitting, side by side. Then Kitty cleared her throat and seemed to relax some from her irritation.

"First of all, we're dealing with an unknown association wich I'll call The Anonymous. Bishop was kind enough to help me go through the recordings from The Anonymous operation and Sam has said that, even though he's visiting his mother, he can go through some of the footage too. Keep in mind that we managed to get our hands on _hundreds_ of hours recorded. I'll accept any helping hand. Anyway…"

The screen, so far a blank, lit up with a still from one of the surveillance cameras that constantly recorded the events in the improvised lab.

"We've managed to identify all the lab people and some of the mercenaries. This is Doctor Gilbert Truman. He was the one in charge of the operation and one of the four lab people Isabel killed. Bishop has discovered that he had been working for the government until last year, when he simply disappeared off the map. His very family and girlfriend have reported him missing. Right. Next is Jason Dawson. He was the youngest man in the operation, twenty-two years old, and he was also the one who… had his heart removed."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	8. Doc Jap

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

Hi, sorry for the late update. Got stuck away from the internet for nearly a week.

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**8\. Doc Jap**

"So, as far as we can tell, The Anonymous are compiling a list of everyone that has come in contact with us, at the Institute, or any other known mutants... Including depowered mutants who have maintained an active pro-mutant activity. Like Jubilee mentioned, they use a variation of the technology used by Bastion during Operation: Zero Tolerance. Bastion actually resorted to engineered super-powered people, even when using machinery to go into people's heads, while these machines simply use electric shocks that, when used simultaneously with visual and audio cues, overcome most people's natural barriers and defences against mental intrusions."

A mosaic of faces showed up on the screen.

"These are just a few of the people who have been abducted in the New York area to have their minds read. I haven't finished going through all the recordings from what was viewed in those people's minds, but the procedure is basically the same: they force the people to go over some specific memories, either linked with certain people, certain places or certain events, and then force a false memory of a traumatic carjacking over the memory of their abduction. This false memory is further reinforced by the mercenaries that actually act out the final part of the carjacking all the way to taking them to a cash-machine and beating them before dropping them anywhere in the city."

Scott cleared his throat before cutting in.

"Kitty has found registers of abductions of over three hundred people. We're going to release these names to your department, Jubilee, so your people can make sure everyone's accounted for."

"Thanks, Scott. Although I'd much prefer I could actually arrest some of these Anonymous assholes and interrogate them."

"Maybe next time," Bishop muttered, "if no one gets to ripping hearts around."

Creed was immediately up, claws unsheathed, but Kitty wouldn't be interrupted.

"Sit down, Creed! I haven't finished yet." The blond sat grudgingly under the young woman's steady glare. "Right. Now, the big question: what is their objective?"

"Find out as much as they can 'bout mutants an' pro-mutants. That's never a question, darlin'."

"I don't think so, Wolvie. They didn't know who Isabel was, but they knew who I work for." Jubilee got up and sat on Scott's desk, feet dangling. "And they kept asking me about the connections between my FBI department and the X-Men. They're looking for holes in the backstage. If the communications between the several agencies involved in the mutant affairs work swiftly or not, if there are rivalries, and if so to what level..."

Logan concluded: "They're testing the grounds fer somethin'."

"Exactly," Kitty changed the screen back to a still from the lab, showing Isabel already strapped down. "But I'll have to go through all their questionings to find some definite common ground. In the mean time, we have lots of other questionings where they're just probing the captured people, like what happened to Isabel. They didn't know who she was, so why take her? Why spend precious time and resources on her? Either they're just taking the opportunity to get information from everyone and anyone, or they're looking for someone specific, but without having the means to identify that someone, or group of someones, until they've got their hands on the target."

Creed had started fidgeting the moment he had seen the still image on the screen. Neverhteless, he bit down his own anger, avoiding Kitty's glance. He wanted to know exactly what had happened and, perhaps even more importantly, what secrets they had forced from her memory. Kitty hesitated, though.

"Look, Creed, if you can't control yourself viewing Isabel being mind probed, you better leave now."

The blond could have skinned the girl alive with his eyes alone, but didn't as much as growled his annoyance, fearing they'd kick him out of the room and wouldn't even have the decency of letting him in on anything concerning his woman.

"OK, then. When they don't know anything in particular about their subjects, they seem to follow the same procedure: a few random questions and then, once they find anything that interests them, they focus on that. For instance, with Isabel, they started by asking where the kitchen was located in the Institute."

The screen was divided in two, one continuing to show Isabel with a lab orderly holding a flipchart, the other black.

"Obviously, Isabel doesn't have any mind barriers or any training, and she was scared enough that her memories just flipped from one point to the other."

Kitty moved to the side and they could see the sequence of images jumping from a big zoom on a pair of eyes, then zooming out into a man's face, followed by an image of Sabretooth talking sternly.

"But once they caught this image of Sabretooth, they automatically focused on that and asked her where she had first met him, and what he was doing."

The screen then showed the image of a beaten track amidst northern pine trees, a blonde woman in tattered white pyjamas rocking herself to and fro next to a jeep, and a man in jeans and a shirt walking towards Isabel. A movement of Isabel's head showed a man sitting on the ground trying to get his entrails back in his body, but then the focus once more shifted to the approaching man, yelling an unmistakable threat, despite the scene not having any sound. Soon afterwards Creed appeared on the same road and almost immediately the whole scenery was replaced by a man's face.

"After this last image, Isabel found a way of somehow blocking the machine by, and I'm guessing here, focusing on a white image."

Kitty stopped the video, which had replaced the man's face with a white rectangle blotched with reddish and blackish spots, and noticed Creed's paleness.

"They increased the voltage of the electric shocks but they didn't get any more images from her mind, so..."

"Play it again." Kitty hesitated with the unexpected demand. "The first images, and the last one."

Scott shook his head.

"Later, Creed. Now, we need to focus..."

"PLAY IT!"

Eyes bloodshot and face even paler, the mutant growled a sardonic "please", his wild gaze never leaving the screen.

Kitty glanced at Scott apprehensively, who nodded a suspicious agreement, and restarted the recording. Two dark-brown eyes, round; a few short, nearly black eyelashes; two thick nearly black eyebrows... belonging to a light-skinned face of a man in his late twenties, early thirties, well-shaved and with attractive features, profuse nearly black wavy hair, a small-sized nose, a delicate, almost feminine chin and slightly elongated ears. Creed narrowed his eyes with tense thoughtfulness then clenched his teeth and asked for the last image of the recording. A thin, bony face, in his very fit late fifties; short ash-blond hair; icy blue eyes; a creepy smile of pleasure pulling his lips to the left.

Creed's rabidly low growl seemed to imply he was on the verge of attacking the very screen.

"Doc Jap," he murmured, and his hands contracted.

"Do you know who this Doc Jap dude is?" Jubilee asked in a low voice to Logan, but Creed heard her and swinged his arm with a deafening roar, mauling the corner of Scott's desk, then kicked the chair he'd been sitting on and brought his right hand's claws down on the closest wall, his left fist closed against it. Then slowly, purposefully, he forced the hand down; the heads of the fingers scraping through the plaster.

Not letting his eyes off the mutant's back, who was still trying to controll the berserker rage steaming just under his skin, Logan explained.

"He's a mercenary. Showed up during the Cold War and quickly built a reputation on bein' able ta keep prisoners alive during torture sessions fer as long as it takes... They say he'll skin a guy alive without ever lettin' 'im lose consciousness."

Jubilee looked at the image of the man's face, Doc Jap's, and the smile that was undoubtedly directed at Isabel.

"I've heard his hobby's boilin' folks alive an' that's why he's called Doc Jap. Boilin' folks alive is supposed ta be a Japanese medieval form o' torture."

Uncomfortable, Kitty sighed and switched off the screen, wondering just in what situation Isabel had come face to face with that man. Behind her, Logan added that the first guy in the recording wasn't probably much nicer than Doc, if Creed's reaction was any indication.

"What happened in the lab?" Creed turned to them, his rage apparently controlled. "I wanna see what happened in the lab that got under the woman's skin so deeply."

Kitty glanced at Scott, who once more nodded his agreement, and she set the recording, this time with sound. It didn't show anything very bad. She hadn't fought when they had strapped her to the board, although she had been agitated while looking at the images flowing from her mind onto the screen, but she had tried to fight when the men added a visor and a set of headphones. Isabel had once more calmed down afterwards, even though the men were getting frustrated and increasing the voltage of the electric shocks, which sent spasms through her entire body.

Standing by the wall, Creed's face had regained its usual circumspection, as he saw the men around Isabel discussing what to do. Then, quite casually, one of them touched her arm. Almost immediately, the woman arched her body and started spasming wildly. The confusion in the lab was complete, as Doctor Truman asked questions on top of questions to try and ascertain if their subject was having a seizure and of what nature. The men tried in vain to hold Isabel down as her body contorted and twisted. Both arms were red with the blood flowing from the cut wrists, and she didn't stop. When the right hand got loose, the arm flayed wildly for a moment, hitting those nearer but without intention, as if Isabel hadn't noticed it was free. One of the men clamped his hands on the bloodied arm and forced it down over the body. Suddenly, that same man walked backwards, holding his forehead and falling back as blood oozed from a long slash.

The other men stepped back too, when the arm swirled around, but Doctor Truman quickly recovered from the surprise, shouting at the subordinates that she had just pretended the seizure, and grabbed her wrist again. The knife swirled quite intentionally and severed the man's wrist, who let go of her with a curse. He yelled for a bandage and for the guards to come and subdue the subject, and one of the orderlies did open the door and yelled frantically for the guards, but Isabel had already peeled off the visor and headphones and was cutting through the handcuffs.

The men lined up against the computers, looking stupidly at their escaping subject. Only when she got off the board and looked wildly at them did they stampede for the door, Isabel hot in their pursuit, swinging the knife quite randomly and wounding the men from their backs. Only the two guards faced her, but one escaping orderly had just tripped and fallen over them, guns uselessly in hand, and she had only had to bring the knife up against their surprised bellies and chests.

Creed shook his head almost sadly.

"Luck. Pure, blind luck. How can you, assholes, say she ain't harmless..." And looked bitterly to the side, jaws clenched in tense thoughtfulness.

Kitty cleared her throat.

"Well, back to the matter at hand, The Anonymous. I still have to go through over three hundred questionings, but once I'm done, I hope I'll be able to gauge what their goal might be, from the line of questioning. For now, we can only keep our eyes open and..."

"And," Jubilee interrupted, getting up while keeping a worried eye on Creed, "make sure there aren't similar ops going on in other cities. I'll check the number of carjackings and short-term kidnappings in other big cities (doubt they'll risk something like this in smaller places). I'll keep you posted. If we do find anything suspicious, it's likely I'll put down a request for your in-field assistance."

"I don't know if that's wise," Jubilee cocked an eye at Bishop. "If they have an eye on fed activities, they'll clear away before we get to them."

"Well, duh! That's why I always set up a surveillance team before anything, with X-Men in the background, obviously off-record, and, once everything's ready, I slam down the request and you can legally intervene before anyone else can do a wrong move. And, if the OK gets delayed and our birds get spooked enough to leave in the meantime, my team can still make arrests without the X-Men's 'official' intervention." Jubilee cracked a cocky grin at the black mutant. "I got all the bases covered, big guy. There's no shmuck gonna slip 'tween _my_ fingers."

Scott got up.

"Alright, then. That seems to settle things. Kitty will finish going over the surveillance feed and Jubilee will check other cities for similar ops. Once that's done, we'll meet up again and decide our next move."

As everyone got up to leave, Creed's glare settled back on Summers. The man held it for a while, then exhaled.

"What now? Haven't you vented your rage enough yet?"

He glared silently for a bit longer as the room emptied, Logan being the only one to remain.

"We need t'have us a word, One-eye. Ya gonna take this collar off me while I... run some errands fer a few days."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	9. A Difficult Decision

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**9\. A Difficult Decision**

Logan was sitting in the control booth watching Creed as he tried to get some steam off in the Danger Room. The man had been there since Scott had told him there would be no hunting, and even Logan had had to agree that he had dealt with the 'no' very smoothly. He had tried painting the killing of Doc Jap as way of bringing the torturer to justice, then he'd reminded Scott he himself had not been against a couple of assassinations in the past. Scott had held his ground though, and suggested the Danger Room instead. Because, obviously, Doc Jap didn't stick around the US more than he had to, since most of his employers worked elsewhere, which meant the X-Men couldn't just take the case to an American law enforcement agency. And besides, where would they get proof of his crimes? Isabel sure as hell wasn't going to go on the witness stand, was she?

As he sat there, watching Creed's rage abate very little session after session, Logan couldn't help but remember the creepy smile. When had the woman come face to face with the mercenary? It hadn't been a casual meeting; that was certain. Not with that expression. On the other hand, if the mercenary had worked on her, there should be enough scars on her body for Hank to have seen something. Of course Doc Jap could have used techniques such as water boarding, which don't leave physical marks, but everything Logan had heard about the man pointed in the other direction. Doc Jap's victims did not survive his actions. He cut, and ripped, and broke, and twisted, and yanked all types of body parts. If you got in his hands, you would inevitably go through an excruciatingly slow death. Perhaps Creed had saved the woman in the nick of time, but then why hadn't he killed the torturer imediately? Besides, from his previous reaction it was obvious Creed hadn't even known Doc Jap had ever been near the woman.

The break of dawn wasn't far off when another session finished and Creed paced a bit before crouching, thoughtfully. Logan changed cameras and zoomed in on the man's face. He was shaking his head lightly and Logan had the feeling he was thinking about ways of escaping in order to hunt down the mercenary. Logan drummed his fingers for a moment then got up and went into the room.

"I ain't finished yet," Creed grumbled, not even bothering to look Logan's way.

"Doc Jap tears people apart bit by bit," Logan said from the doorway, just in case the guy decided he was meddling and tried to say so with his claws.

The blond did get up with a suspicious frown but didn't do anything to imply Logan was going too far, so it was time to stretch the limits of the conversation.

"The woman has no signs of his handywork."

A single sideways snarl. Logan guessed he might have approached the limit but was still far from stepping on it, much less stretching it. Nevertheless, his aim here wasn't stepping on the guy's toes but nudge him into explaining the situation, so he gave him some time. Creed kept snarling for a minute or two before looking the other way.

"Ya mean she don't look much disembowled, is it? Well, ya knows what they says, ya can only disembowl folks once."

That didn't help much, but then Creed clenched his teeth and looked him straight in the eye.

"But if ya get a telepath in the mix, ya can disembowl 'em as many times as ya feel like."

Logan couldn't help feeling a shiver at the thought.

"How long…"

Though it didn't make that much of a difference. One day or one week, the woman had to have suffered hell in the mercenary's hands.

"Two weeks," Creed grumbled in a low voice, once more looking away. "How can she ever feel safe when she knows the man that tortured her is alive somewhere?"

When Creed looked Logan in the eye again, there was a clear question on his expression.

"Could even happen t' find her one day an' decide t' finish his work."

Or maybe request might be a better word.

Scott played by the rules. There had been a few times when he hadn't but it didn't come natural to him so he'd always reverted back to the safety of following the rules. Especially now that they had to work in close association with so many law enforcement agencies.

Logan on the other hand… He went over how shattered Isabel had been when they'd rescued her. She was _not_ as harmless as a baby, no matter what Creed might say. Sure, she had been lucky to break free, and she sure as hell had been lucky the white coats had been dumb idiots who had practically offered their backs for her to slash. But if she really was harmless, Logan doubted she'd have gone on the attack mode. She would have tried to run away and would only have attacked those who might have stood in her way. She would not have stopped to rip a man's heart out. Two weeks in the hands of a man like Doc Jap, though, was something nobody deserved, harmless or not.

Logan was aware that Creed knew he took issue with that kind of thing. That was why he was still staring at him, waiting.

Scott would come after them, though. Creed's bracelets had locators and they'd be found in no time. Logan could take them off but… but what? Creed might be constrained by those bracelets, but he was far more constrained by his woman and child. No matter what happened, he would always come back for them, and they were not going anywhere, were they?

"Ya can't bring yer phone," he warned. Creed had been in constant telephonic contact with the little girl, whenever he was away, so he might see it as a deal breaker. "And ya can't contact no one or Scott'll find us in no time."

Creed nodded.

"I'll just need ta stop by Wagner's then, ta warn Lilia."

That shouldn't be too difficult. Logan would simply tell Scott he was taking Creed to pick up the little girl and then he'd disconnect the bracelets at the last minute.

"Meet me in the garage in fifteen minutes."

* * *

The pain in the centre of her palm throbbed with each heart beat while the blood flowed around the large nail. She couldn't stop the whimper as the blade ran leisurely through the finger, its sharp tip scrapping the bone underneath. He was humming a song, the blue-eyed monster, and she felt the tears streaming down her face while her entire body shuddered under the sharp pain. Soon, very soon, it would start convulsing, her body. Once the man grabbed the pliers to pull the bones out, leaving only the flesh hanging from the hand. She was already suffering in antecipation, and her only wish was that she'd be able to hold the screams because he loved to hear her…

"Isabel!"

She came to with a gasp and was startled by the blue figure ahead of her. The moment she tried to pull away from it, though, she recognised Doctor Hank McCoy and breathed in relief.

"Are you feeling allright?"

She nodded, shakenly, glancing at her hands. The bandaged wrists throbbed almost as much as the nailed palm of her hand or the finger that the memory had been cutting in her dream. Isabel closed her eyes and sat up. She was through with sleeping for that night. Or morning, since the sun was blazing through the window. Trying to calm down her breathing, she craddled her right hand, hoping for the phantom pain to fade quickly.

"I can supply some more analgesic if the pain becomes too intense," the doctor offered, his voice clearly concerned.

Isabel shook her head, keeping her eyes down. She didn't want him to see the tears she was trying to hold back, though she didn't know if she could do so for much longer.

"I'm fine," she murmured in a hoarse voice. "I'm fine."

Right now, what she really wanted was for Victor to hold her tight and tell her she was safe. She knew she was, but it was different when he said it. It felt more real. Even because, if he was there by her side, no one would be able to as much as try to hurt her. Not even in her dreams.

"I'm fine," she repeated, when the doctor sarted saying something. "I'm fine."

"I'm fine."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	10. The Hunt is On

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**10\. The Hunt is On**

The radio of the jeep was playing faintly as both Logan and Creed waited in silence. Despite having his eyes closed, Logan was very much aware that Creed was still staring at his cell phone, which he had put on the dashboard after leaving the cybercafé.

Creed was confident that, should Doc Jap be in-between jobs, the easiest and fastest way to get to him was to hire his services. So he had used an alias to log onto a dark net forum that basically worked as an employment agency, getting people in need of assistance in touch with the right people to get the job done. This alias, MT, was supposed to have a solid reputation as a reliable hitman so there should be no need for background checks when he posted a request for a hit.

The request had been for someone capable of skinning a man alive, which explained why MT wasn't doing the job himself, not having the necessary skills to pull it off. No need for a complete skinning, he had added, but as much as possible. Qualifications were, obviously, required.

The confirmation text had arrived within thirty minutes of the request being posted, along with the information that all members who met the specifics would be contacted as well as the reminder that all who applied would send a link to their personal profiles so MT could confirm their qualifications (in the shape of their uniquely tailored rating system) and make an informed choice. And please remember to rate the quality, speed and thoroughness of the service once the hit was done (or otherwise face penalties). Thank you.

Creed had said most requests got an answer within the first three hours, the fastest answers being the ones that usually got the job. But, being so specific, Logan suspected they might have to wait a bit longer as not many hitmen would be qualified for the service.

Logan opened his eyes when he noticed Creed start moving, but the man had simply reached for the radio, raising the volume a bit before once more staring at the phone, his fingers now following the beat of the song.

"You must understand," Tina Turner's voice sang. "Though the touch of your hand makes my pulse react."

They had been waiting for over two hours now.

"that is only the thrill

of boy meeting girl

opposites attract"

Listening to the singer, Logan felt suddenly antsy with the silent immobility.

"It's physical"

"What if he ain't in-between jobs?"

Creed made a slight gesture of impatience.

"We got 48 hours fer someone t' apply 'fore the request is voided," he grumbled, and raised the volume a bit more.

"You must try to ignore

that it means more than that"

"And if no one applies?"

"We wait an' see," Creed snarled.

"...got to do, got to do with it"

Logan growled and switched off the radio.

"I didn't break ya out t'spend the day sittin' in the car listenin' t' music!"

"We gotta _wait_," Creed snarled. "And ya better hope he answers the damn request 'cause it's gonna be a hell of a long an' slow hunt if he doesn't."

Creed switched the radio back on.

"Why don't ya get some sleep an' get off my back, huh?"

"who needs a heart when a heart can be broken"

Logan frowned. For a moment, he could have sworn the asshole wanted him to shut up just so he could listen to the song. He decided for a low jab.

"And here I thought ya'd want t' go over all possibilities an' failsafes t' quickly find this guy an' hurry up back t' yer kid. Ya do know ya can't contact her till we're done, right?"

That seemed to have hit home.

"Actually, I was thinkin' the whole sneakin' out thing t'have been the worst idea ever. I should'ave posted the damn request first and only get outta there _after_ I had gotten an answer. 'Cause if Doc Jap don't answer in 24 hours, I either gotta reshape my request entirely or I gotta wait _one week_ 'fore repostin' it." He shook his head, snarling. "Week after week, till I get an answer."

Well, if Logan had had an inkling of how Creed was going to conduct this search, waiting would have been exactly what he'd have done. But the asshole had only mentioned the plan after they had left Kurt's house. Where the hell had he had his head not to think the whole thing through first? Now it was too late to backtrack.

"Oooh," sang Tina Turner in the background. "What's love got to do, got to do with it"

"So this could take what? A month? Two?"

"Can't take that long!" Creed snapped. "Jubilation might have the brilliant idea o' draggin' the woman out o' the house and into another scrap."

Logan scoffed.

"That's ya're first worry? What are ya gonna do, keep her locked up fer the rest of her life?"

Creed rolled his eyes with a grunt.

"Don't be a dumb ass! She can go out whenever she wants to. But with _me_! It's pretty clear she ain't the least safe when she goes out on those damn girls' outings."

"_You_'re the dumb ass," Logan grunted, which earned him a snarl. "It was a freak accident! Isabel has been goin' out pretty much on her own ever since she got here an' she ain't ever had any problems."

"That's precisely it! Two months is her average."

Logan looked at him with a confused frown and Creed breathed out.

"The first year she was with me, she got in trouble _eight_ times, which is more than once every two months. And, believe me, whenever she's livin' on her own, that's precisely her average: some sort o' problem every two months."

Was that asshole for real?

"An' how many times were those problems related t' _your_ line o' work?"

The man sneered.

"Two. Which makes it six scraps a year, and, like I said, two a month. I really don't know how she'd survive if I wasn't 'round t'save her at every turn."

There was something not right in that story. Whatever it was, Logan felt it was wiser not to go there. It was none of his business after all. Still, it pricked him. Whatever the guy believed, he was wrong, had to be. Logan just needed looking at his own life and... well, relationships. Either folks were in a dangerous line of work and had their own problems blowing in their faces, or it was their association to Logan that got them in trouble. Creed was just being obtuse when it came to the real origin of those scraps he had been counting.

"Oooh," Tina Turner was still singing in the background. "What's love got to do, got to do with it."

"what's love

but a second-hand emotion"

"Ya better not say it."

Logan frowned at the man.

"Say what?"

"What ya're thinkin'."

Why had he ever thought it was a good idea to spring the asshole out and hook up together on a wild goose hunt?

"Well, Mr Just Turned Telepath, what _am_ I thinkin'?"

"That I should'ave picked a woman that can take care of herself," he snarled. "But just so ya knows, Isabel can take care o' herself just _fine_."

Uh-huh. Which was why he wanted to shadow her every step.

"She just needs t'be in a safe location, that's all. Which New York sure as hell _ain't_."

The song was winding down and Creed switched to another radio station. Then another, and another, and another, and...

"Switch the damn thing off if it's buggin' you." Logan grumbled. "All that switchin' is annoyin'."

Creed ignored him, obviously, and kept going through radio station after radio station. This was going to be a long... beep, beep. Creed got the phone immediately.

"I think it's him," Creed said and showed him the qualifications.

It was a list of ratings by previous employers. They all mentioned disembowling or extracting of a variety of inner organs, breaking or extricating bones, torturing for information and generally long drawn out deaths. As Creed scrolled down, there was a reference to skinning people alive: apparently, it was a rare request and the only times he'd done it were before the advent of the forum so he could only produce his word that he was able to pull it off.

"Now what?"

Creed shrugged.

"I send 'im the details – who, where, when an' price – and he'll have 24 hours t'accept or decline. Or haggle, but that ain't very common."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	11. Side Effects

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**11\. Side Effects**

Isabel started off the bed and ran into the bathroom. Still, she had stopped heaving by the time she reached the toilet. Frozen and sweaty, Isabel tried to force the dream into oblivion.

"It's just a dream," she told herself in Portuguese. "Just a dream."

Like all the other ones she'd been having since the abduction and the... what had Victor called it? Mind probe? She shook her head. It had only been four days since the whole thing. Four days since Victor and Logan had taken off. Lilia had told her that Pappa was going after a very bad man and couldn't use the phone or the bad man would escape, but Isabel was very much pissed he had taken off without telling her what was really going on, especially after wringing that promise out of her!

The nightmares were bad enough on top of her still hurting wrists and... and everything! This feeling of being cooped up for fear that anything could pounce on her the minute she stepped a foot out on the street was not helping at all. Why the hell had she yielded to Victor, promising she wouldn't go anywhere! He probably wouldn't have risked leaving her like that, without even a word, knowing she could go out. A stronger quiver shook her body and she held back an enfuriated groan. God, when would the dreams lose their intensity?

"Everything's all right," she said aloud in her soothing Portuguese. "You don't need Victor by your side because you are just fine and everything's all right."

Getting up from the floor, she made a vain effort to control the shivering, then gave up and just washed her face in cold water. At least now she could pretend she was shivering from its coldness. She looked up and inadvertendly saw herself on the mirror.

"You're too pale," she told herself, "you need to sleep and to eat better."

As if she wouldn't if she could!

"You need to get some sleep," the voice inside her head kept on when she returned to the bedroom, which had her grumbling an angry "shut up".

She glanced at the bed and fear gripped her insides so she turned her back to it and sat at the desk, got a little candle and a rosary from the drawer, then lit it in front of a small image of Our Lady of Fatima. Taking a deep breath, she started praying the Rosary.

Isabel felt much calmer and in control once she'd finished. She even sat on the bed without a single shudder of apprehension at the idea of going back to sleep. Nevertheless, she still delayed that particular task. On the bedside table between her bed and Lilia's was the girl's precious cell phone, the one her Pappa had been constantly calling and which had been silent for four days now. Despite waking up with a tantrum, going to bed with another tantrum and going through the meals on the edge of more, she seemed to be holding out ok. Thank God for small blessings!

Isabel closed her fists hard, staring at the gadget. Her own phone was gone so she couldn't even re-read their last texts. On the other hand, she had Victor's phone. Which meant the temptation of texting him was constantly pressing her. She knew very well she was not to contact him when he was on a job unless it was an emergency. She had never done it, not even once, in the six years they'd been together. Sure, she might have texted him, but only once he'd first let her know he was free to text back. No, wait. She had texted him once about that bear. And that time when he'd been sulking and had stopped contacting him. Those two times didn't count, though, not when what she wanted was to chat. Even through the two months of their separation here in the Institute, she had always resisted that particular weakness of hers. Text him for what, really? To get a soothing text that contradicted how callous he was in public. Please! She was stronger than that, and it was never too much to remind herself she'd rather slit her own throat than debase herself to show how much his indifference stung her.

A treacherous tear trickled down her face, but she promptly rubbed it off and kept the others from following it. Lilia was sleeping soundly under the bed covers. "You should get some sleep, too," the voice in her head returned. But the mere thought of lying down reminded her of the nightmares, and then there was that stupid pang in her heart at the idea of Victor, away in parts unknown without a single word of warning, and the peace the prayers had given her withered into a sense of misery.

She got up and paced the room, telling herself there was nothing to be afraid of. Even if the dreams were painful, even if she had that sort of phantom pain when she woke up, it was all psychological, she told herself. She could not give in to the… fear.

Isabel caught her breath and looked at Lilia. The tantrums! Isabel felt edgier over her nightmares at three different points of the day: in the morning, when hiding sleeplessness and irritation at the meals, and when going to the bedroom at night. It was precisely when Lilia threw her tantrums!

How come she hadn't seen it sooner! Good Our Lady, she could not allow herself to feel fear around the child. Isabel rubbed her hands and made up her mind. That meant she could not have a single nightmare near Lilia, so… so she'd sleep during the day, when Lilia wasn't around. She'd just have to… to find someone that could keep an eye on the girl for a few hours while she napped. Once Victor arrived, it would be easy. And then, when the dreams stopped, she could resume normal sleeping hours. It was as simple as that.

Isabel took a deep breath. It started tonight.

To make sure sleep wouldn't catch her unaware, Isabel made her bed and sat down on the floor.

Once upon a time, she had dealt with night phantoms by mock playing at Victor's piano, back in Wausau. Another lifetime away, it seemed to her. And it was: back then she had been Irbis, first and foremost, and she had been trying to deal with the abrupt ending of her previous live, when she had been Inês. She chuckled soundlessly at the thought she was like a cat, down to her third life. Four more to go, she guessed, if her current staying with the X-Men, her life at Creston cut short, didn't actually count as the fourth.

Isabel closed her eyes and imagined the piano in front of her. She could almost feel her fingertips caressing the keys. Could almost feel the weight of the lid as she closed it, so she wouldn't accidentally press a key and wake Victor. Mr Creed, she had called him back then. She smiled at the memory.

She would start with Bach. Once upon a time, she'd played all 48 pieces in Johan Bach's book _The Well-Tempered Clavier_. Of course she hadn't memorised all the pieces, but she remembered half a dozen or so. She'd start by playing those from memory. Then she'd move on to Beethoven and Mozart and... She'd go through all the pieces she had ever learnt. Allowing her fingers to thoughtlessly go through mechanised scales, Isabel decided her memorised repertoire was wide enough and, if she ever felt bored, she'd simply improvise new pieces! Ha, improvising music in a make belief keyboard! Whatever. The mental effort would distract her from any fear that might affect her precious baby girl.

* * *

Jubilee sat at her desk and groaned. Her head still ached from the mental probe she had been subjected to, especially when the lights around her were particularly strong. Or when she got to work and sat down at a desk overrun with paperwork. Maybe she should pop one of those pills Hank had given her to take if needed.

Emma had explained to her that when a mind probe is done mechanically, rather than psychically, the resulting mind soreness tends to linger for longer. Fighting off the intrusion had only caused greater and more prolonged pain, as she was now well aware.

"Are you feeling ok," Tom Selks asked.

Jubilee rolled her eyes at Tom. She felt like a blasted zombie; of course she was not feeling ok. But the powers that be had refused her request for some days off because there were no physical injuries that required it. As if a mental attack left physical damage! Those people were the dumbest, most out of touch morons that had ever lived. What choice did she have but to drag her ass onto her bright orange chair and peruse file after file of carjacking and abduction cases?

"I. Am. _Fine_."

"Is that why you haven't taken off your sunglasses yet?"

Jubilee awarded him her worst death glare... although it probably didn't carry much weight over the tinged lenses. Oh, what the hell! She opened the drawer and popped one, two pills.

"Here," Elton set a large cup of coffee on her desk. Thank God for nice guys in your team! "You look like you need it."

"Thank _you_," she glowed, albeit a bit weakly. "Remind me to send you another batch of gratitude chocolate."

Elton sat at the desk next to her.

"You do remember I don't like chocolate, right?"

Oh, yeah, he had said something along those lines when she had gotten a courier to drop twenty boxes of chocolate on his desk a week ago or so.

"Well, then feel free to recycle it."

Or maybe not. She wasn't going to spend money for Elton to leave a box on every desk in the department. After all, there were people around who did not deserve random chocolate goodiness.

"Or I can get you... hm... gratitude jelly beans?"

Or, better yet, she could get him a ticket for an upcoming concert. He was nuts for all sorts of rock bands. She'd look into it as soon as she could stare onto a screen for longer than five minutes without her brain breaking out in mental hives.

Jubilee opened the first file on her desk with a sigh. If only all that stuff was digital and they could have a magical IT tech capable of pushing a button and discovering everything they needed. Life should so be like TV series: extra action, zero paperwork. One last sigh and she focused on the details of the case, looking for any red flags.

They had already identified seven so-called carjack cases in Philadelphia and Jubilee had filed a request for the X-Men's telepath to join them while interviewing the victims, but the interviews themselves shouldn't start before all the cases in that city had been analysed. Perhaps another two weeks, if things went well.

At least they had gotten documentation of every victim in New York. Since Jubilee had been personally involved in the New York kidnappings, another team was going over those victims, officially unaware that the X-Men were also studying their cases. Nevertheless, Jubilee would eventually transmit to her federal colleagues everything the X-Men discovered, much like she would transmit the federal conclusions to her X-friends. One hand washes the other, right?

Unfortunately, the coffee was soon long gone. Jubilee had wanted to go and get some more but her still numb head was making her the least productive of the team so she pressed on. When Elton's phone rang and threw her off focus, though, she decided she really did need a break.

"Coffee anyone," she asked as she got off her customised chair and stretched.

It was an unnecessary question, since the offering always elicited the same distracted nodding. Anyway, espresso for Amy and Elton, capuccino for Tom. She was walking away from the desk when Elton called her.

"That was Kate," the Squad Analyst, who had just finally gotten an assistant due to the piling up of work. "Two siblings were kidnapped yesterday, a baby and a toddler. Their father was a mutant before the M-Day and admitted to having been marginally involved with an incarnation of the Brotherhood of Mutants some fifteen years ago."

Oh, fuck! And Logan had taken Creed on a joy ride! Talk about bad timing.

"I'm going to start on the paperwork for emergency X-Men assistance," Jubilee said, thinking that at least Hank could sniff the place to see if Mystique had been involved.

"It happened in St. Albans, West Virginia. The man is a Raymond Miller." Elton jotted down as he spoke. "The children, two girls, are caucasian, both blonde with blue eyes."

"I'll take care of the paperwork, Jubes," Tom said, taking the forms from her hands. "You call the X-Men and see if they have anything on this guy."

Glancing at Amy Turin typing fiercely, Jubilee was sure the woman was checking the federal data bases for the man too.

"OK. Just don't forget I need to sign it."

She picked the phone and dialed. With any luck, they'd get the ok to hitch a hike on the X-Men jet within the hour.

"Scott, it's me! We just got a break on the Mystique case."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	12. The third one: Ripped hearts

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**12\. Third: Ripped hearts**

Logan sat in his jeep outside the lonely cabin, not far from Galeton, and sighed. So maybe he had been a bit hypocritical when he had stopped Creed from torturing the Doc. Logan was aware he would have wanted to skin the guy alive too, should he be in Creed's shoes, but his rational and more human side reminded him that yielding to the animal thirst for vengeance wasn't exactly the right thing to do. Sure _he_ did it, but that was when his animal side took over and he stopped thinking rationally. But he always strived to stop it (and, deep down, he even managed to appreciate it when his friends did find a way of stopping him). If a criminal deserved killing for his actions, then he should be killed. Period. Not tortured.

Matsuo popped into his mind and he shook his head. That had been different. Even today, half of him still wished to go and chop bits off the man till... till what, really? Mariko wouldn't have approved of it, would she? Even though Logan had celebrated Mariko's death anniversary (just how badly did it sound, huh?) by hunting Matsuo down and chopping ears and hands (which only made it sound worse), his rational mind had always told him off. It was stronger than him, nevertheless. If someone had tried to stop him, as much as he'd have raved against them and fought them, in the end he would know they'd be doing the right thing and he would thank them. The noble thing to do, as Mariko no doubt would have said. It hurt just to think of her. It always did hurt less while he was stalking or hacking at Matsuo, even though the pain was often unbearable afterwards.

He had never been worthy of the honourable woman, had he? Even now, thinking of her death and wishing to appease that raw pain with blood...

It was why Logan always tried to keep his team mates from acting on similar revenge plans. He knew how wrong it was and how later they'd be doubly gnawed, on the one hand feeling bad for having given in to the fury and on the other hand feeling worse because giving in to their dark side hadn't really helped anyone.

Logan glanced at his ripped clothes. Good thing he had anticipated he and Creed might end up discussing a difference of opinions with their claws and had brought a few extra changes of clothes.

For a moment, he wondered if he should have let the man torture the Doc, but it was a fleeting doubt. He knew he had done the right thing by taking that stand. Even if the Doc had managed to escape while Logan and Creed had been fighting and the two had had to interrupt their argument to get him back. Even if Creed had ended up literally ripping the guy's heart out the moment he got his hands back on the mercenary.

For a second time, Logan wished he had done that to Matsuo. Shaking his head to try and keep away the memories of Mariko agonising in his arms, begging him to... Damn, it had felt as if his own heart had been slowly ripped out, over and over. He really should have thought of ripping Matsuo's heart too. Just so he knew how badly it hurt.

Logan punched the driving wheel. Forget about it already, he grumbled to himself. Shut it out! He glanced at the cabin, the dull sound of the generator buzzing underneath the chirping of the crickets. The only thing he didn't understand was why Creed had put the man's heart in the fridge. What was _that_ all about?

The night was growing cooler in the first hours of the morning. Logan lay back on the seat and closed his eyes. And opened them imediately as he heard Creed coming out of the cabin. The blond had been brooding over the dead body for almost half an hour, and, though he looked pretty haggard and harsh, his voice was curiously even and soft.

"Ya think ya got enough cover t'phone Wagner and find out how my girl's doin'?"

Logan got his phone and switched it on.

"No," he shook his head. "We can drive down t'Galeton though."

"Yeah, ya do that," Logan frowned and was about to tell him he was not leaving him alone there but Creed was looking thoughtfully at the cabin and carried on without noticing Logan's renitence. "I'll get rid o' the body an'... clean up as much as possible, I guess. We don't want no one trippin' on bloody floors an' callin' the police, right?"

Logan still didn't like the idea of leaving the man by himself, but figured they might just get into another clawing argument so he tried to avoid a direct conflict.

"Ya can come down int' town with me and we'll clean it up tomorrow. It's a job better done with light."

Creed shook his head.

"I wanna set out at day break and we could both do wi' some rest 'fore a six hour drive."

No, Creed could do with some rest, since he had been playing at the anxious insomniac ever since Doc Jap had accepted the hit that had been his downfall. Reminding himself that starting another fight would not solve anything, Logan groaned.

"Tell ya what, we both clean the mess an' tomorrow, as we're drivin' back home, ya call the girl yerself first thing."

* * *

Logan had been driving for three hours when he pulled over at Hancock. Three hours. With a human heart inside a cooler full of ice and Creed texting non-stop like an addicted teenager. Yes, he had been growling all of the way, and no, Creed hadn't as much as looked up from the damned phone once. Logan had had to brake because of a stupid dog jumping onto the road and then freezing still; he had nearly even skidded off the road, and the asshole hadn't as much as glanced up. Not even commented the near accident! Hell, a bunch of ninjas could have attacked, he wouldn't have noticed.

"Ya're drivin'," Logan said getting off the jeep.

"Huh? What?"

The shock! He had reacted.

"I said ya're drivin' the rest o' the way."

" 'kay, gimme just a sec."

And he kept on texting. It was unbelievable, really. Maybe this was indeed a clone of Victor Sabretooth Creed because... non-stop texting? For real? Logan headed for the diner and snarled when Creed shouted for him to get some more ice for the heart.

Logan understood very well the little girl was obsessed with him. And Hank would be very pleased to know that Creed texted more than he called because that meant the girl had to rely on her mother to read it out and help her text back an answer. Logan had heard him loud and clear as he'd explained it to the girl over the phone:

"D'ya know what else's fun? Text games! I knows this great one in Portuguese: ya gotta find out what I'm doin' so ya asks as many questions as ya can, and I answer as little as possible without lyin'. You do the same and whoever finds out what the other's doin' first, wins. Perfect game ta learn how ta be the best spy ever. What d'ya say? Mamma'll help ya wi'the writin' an' stuff. It's 'bout time ya learn how ta read and write like a really big girl, anyways, ain't it?"

Great to know he was trying to mend the rift between the two even if everyone had doubted he had any interest in doing so. Still, it did not change the fact that the asshole had been taking the whole thing to the extreme from day one.

When Logan came out of the diner, Creed was standing by the trunk, talking on the phone this time, but astonishingly hung up and put the phone in the pocket when he saw Logan approach.

"Ya got the ice?"

Logan didn't answer. The guy had eyes to see he was carrying a bag of it, didn't he? Instead he went over to the seat and got his own phone out, switching it on for the second time since going AWOL. Now that he had cover, he could see Scotty had tried to call him twenty-eight times over the last four days. It was safe to say he was still freshly pissed. Creed didn't take long to close the trunk and start the jeep.

He pressed the number to automatically dial Jubilee and left the phone some ten inches from his ear as a safety measure.

"WOLVIE!" Should have made it a hundred inches. "What the HELL did you think you were DOING running off like that with CREED of all people!"

"Damn, she's loud," Creed grumbled.

But Logan frowned at the girl's reaction, getting a sudden bad feeling, especially as he could hear Scott in the background, telling her to give him the phone.

"Is somethin' goin' on?"

"Hell, yeah! Mystique's gone and kidnapped _four_ kids!"

What?

"What?" Creed snapped urgently. "Did she just say _Mystique_?"

He nodded to Creed, inwardly cursing at the timing.

"When was that?"

"Forget about _when_," she ran over Scott's third or fourth attempt to get the phone while Creed growled at him to put the speakerphone on.

"She's targeting old acquaintances..."

Growling at the screen, Logan tried to think how...

"… from the times of the…"

"Put it on the loud speaker, damnit!"

"I'm tryin' to!"

But he could never find the damn thing when he needed it. Not that he needed it often. Actually, he had never needed it before. His heightened hearing meant it was unnecessary.

"Hey, are you listening..."

He snarled at Creed who had just swerved off the road and onto a sudden stand still while grumbling about speakers and icons.

"Hold a sec, damnit!"

"Wha... Who the HELL do you think you're talking to, Logan!"

He didn't answer. What freaking icon...

"Don't ya know how ta fuckin' use a phone?" Creed outstretched a hand. "Gimme that!"

"Creed?" Jubilee said from the other side.

Logan let him take it, if only because he really had no idea how to put the thing on the loud speaker.

"Well, I obviously don't use it a tenth as much as _you_ do."

He only ever used it for occasional calls anyway, or random incoming texts from Jubilee, which he tended to ignore.

"Ya're on the loud speaker," Creed growled. "What's that ya was sayin' 'bout Mystique? Who did she kidnap? And where?"

"Mystique kidnapped four kids," Jubilee grumbled from the other side. "Two siblings were kidnapped from St Albans in West Virginia yesterday during the night. Beast confirmed that Mystique did not enter the house but she was in the get-away vehicle."

That was weird. Why would she go anywhere near the place knowing Logan, Tigard or Hank could sniff her scent and connect the abduction to her immediately?

"The children we know she has taken so far include a three year old, a two and a half year old and an eleven month old baby."

Mystique taking care of babies? Logan just couldn't believe... Then again, he wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen Creed with his kid, would he? And although Lilia was Creed's own flesh and blood, Mystique did have a good track record of caring for adoptive children. At least while they were young.

"Another child was abducted today, at eight, from his house in Raleigh, North Carolina. A four year old boy. Fortunately there was a witness who called the police. The get away car was found and so was the kid but Mystique and her associate are on the run."

She had been spotted?! How the hell had the woman let that happen? It sounded beyond amateurish, and that was something Mystique definitely wasn't.

"Also, there are good chances she is going over old associates and acquaintances so my squad is going through everyone known to have worked with her, including the X-Corps period."

So it was as they had guessed. Mystique was going after the children of mutants, even if they had lost their powers in the meantime... but that also meant there weren't many chances of the kids having the X-gene, not if their parents had lost theirs. Could she really be setting a school for pro-mutant brainwashing?

"Have ya got any idea where she could have taken the kids," Logan asked.

"We're trying to ascertain a general area: we've got a hit in Pennsylvania and two in North Carolina, which means her HQ is probably within that area. We're guessing she's using a rural property in order to avoid meddling neighbours, so we're checking properties owned by any of her previous aliases and connections, since she could have one of them helping her."

It was like looking for a needle in a hay stack.

"Hey, Creed," she called. "You two were, like, really close, right?"

Logan smirked at the man's uncomfortable grimace.

"Can you think of any secluded property on the Eastern Coast she could be using?"

"I think they're all fairly known, one way or the other. It's more likely she found herself a fresh den."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of, too." Jubilee sighed. "We need to find these kids ASAP, Wolvie. It's great that she was spotted in the Raleigh area, but she could be almost anywhere by now! We're on the jet and we should land in another ten minutes or so. How fast can you get there?"

"We could be there by nightfall," Logan breathed out, upset.

"No," she grunted in annoyance. "That's too late. I mean, as useful as Beast is, his tracking skills are nothing next to yours. We really need a break, you know. What if Cyclops takes the jet around after we land and picks you up? Going and returning, that would probably make what? Three hours?"

He still felt like the whole thing didn't quite add up. If it hadn't been for the scent, and that freakish thing of being spotted by the police, no one would have connected the kidnappings to her. So why had she done such a consistently sloppy job? It reminded him of Paris, when she had manipulated them into target practice, so to speak. If Creed's expression was any indication, the man shared his concerns.

"Have ya warned Rogue?"

"Like, duh! What kind of question is that?" Jubilee grunted. "She was worried about the kidnapped children, obviously, but very much relieved Mystique is not really going after the twins."

Logan's heart missed a beat as the implication snapped to his mind.

"Is she still monitorin' her kids?" Creed got out first.

There was a moment of silence before Jubilee asked if they were seriously thinking this to be a distraction.

" 'Cause Scott and I thought about it," she added. "But then the Raleigh police contacted us about an hour ago and why would she do that, kidnap four kids, if she only wanted a distraction?"

"Maybe 'cause nobody connected her t' that first abduction?" Logan offered.

"I suppose it _could_ be possible..." she said unconvinced.

"I hope ya're all thinkin' that if Raven got those kids as a distraction," Creed interrupted, "she don't really need 'em alive."

True, which made the search for them that much... Logan recognised Elton Robson's voice in the background, talking about another abduction in Virginia. Seven days before, on a Thursday. A two year old girl. That made five abducted children, even if one had already been rescued.

The two men in the jeep exchanged glances.

"She's gonna try fer the twins," Creed muttered while Jubilee asked Elton for details. "Ya know the woman too, boy. If she didn't want us t'find a trail o' kidnapped kids, all pointin' at her, we wouldn't. She's herdin' our attention and efforts away from her real target."

Logan couldn't agree more. Jubilee and Scott, even Rogue!, they were all focused on the missing children and they knew the twins were as safe as could be, that's why they weren't following up on the distraction hypothesis.

"Jubes," Logan called. "Hey, JUBES!"

"What?!"

"Look, ya keep up yer investigation on that side, ok?" He heard her groan and hurried before she could interrupt him. "Creed and I agree this is probably a distraction so we're gonna follow that lead. An' listen, even if we managed t'get there in just three hours, the track'd be long cold."

"Have McCoy sniff fer the scent o' death," Creed added. "If Mystique kidnapped the kids as a distraction an' nuthin' else, 'em bein' so young is gonna cramp her actions big time an' she'll probably get rid o' them as soon as she can."

"You think she would...?"

Logan felt bad for Jubilee. She'd be heartbroken if anything happened to those kids.

"Unless she wants 'em fer somethin' else," Creed was explaining. "Killin' 'em the moment she gets her hands on 'em is the most practical way o' goin' 'bout it."

"Logan," Scott's voice took over and Logan impatiently signalled Creed to start driving, which the man promptly did. "Before you..."

"Sorry 'bout takin' off," Logan cut him short. "But we did what we had t' do an' there's no point goin' over it."

He hung up. Scott was going to spit fire for a couple of hours but he'd get over it eventually. Logan searched for the list of contacts for a moment then realised he didn't have Rogue's number.

"Damnit," he grumbled in a low voice. Well, at least he had Gambit's.

"What? Somethin' else ya don't know how t'do?"

Logan growled at Creed's grin.

"Yeah, I don't know how ta spend three hours textin' like a school boy."

The man's grin turn to a half snarl and Logan grinned.

"Next ya gonna says I should play Candy Crush an'... what's that game... Minecroft or somethin'!"

"Hey, homme," Gambit answered. "Didn't expect t'ear from you, not after I heard ya took Creed fer a joyride."

"Cut the crap, LeBeau. Ya're at Massachusetts, right?" Logan barely waited for a positive. "Creed and I got a feelin' Mystique set up the kidnappings as a distraction an' that she's gonna try t'get the twins. We'll be up there in about three hours."

"No worries," Logan could hear the man's calmness over the topic. "Anna Marie checks on 'em lil' ones ev'ry ten minutes."

"Loudspeaker," grumbled Creed at his side but Logan just showed him the finger.

"I thought she was teachin' all mornin'," Logan frowned. "Ain't classes started there yet?"

"She can check de cameras o' deir room from her phone," he explained. "Wait, I'm near de security booth... an' dere dey are, playin' wi'de nanny."

For a moment Logan, felt unsure. Everything pointed towards the twins but he actually had no idea how Mystique could get to them.

"I'll go over de ground security all de same," Gambit added, as a low beep sounded in the background. "And I'm callin' Nanny Milly on de phone we 'ave in de room t'tell 'er dere ain't gonna be no mornin'... stroll..."

"Gambit, what?"

"De video," he said in a hoarse, stiff voice. "De phone ain't ringin' in de security video."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	13. Baby Steps

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**13\. Baby Steps**

She had cried, she had screamed, she had cursed. She had very nearly jumped off the window to fly in pursuit of her children, to rescue them. To save her own family the way she had saved the world so many times.

Only she couldn't. Rogue, the oh-so-powerful and unstoppable Rogue, was gone. There was just Anna Marie, powerless, helpless. She had thrown it all away to be a mother and now… now she had lost everything!

She had been furious with Scott for refusing to drop everything and come to her aid. And Jubilee? She had flat out said she couldn't do a thing and told her to talk to Sofía Mantega instead! How could they put anyone ahead of her own need? Her babies were first! They were her friends, were they not? So how could they put nameless children whose parents they had never even met ahead of hers? Who cared if they could die when her babies were… God!

Now she just felt mortified, obviously.

But she only wanted her babies back… Never, ever again would she dare to leave them alone. Never! God, just please…

By the time Logan had arrived, though, Anna had no more tears to shed. She came down to greet him, hollow, barely able to say a word. Further ashamed for having to depend on those who had not given up the power to save lives. The way she had. Even if she had done it to bring those precious children to life.

Remy kissed her forehead tersely, telling her to lie down and get some rest (as if she could rest while her children were God knows where!), and led the way, talking about Sofía Mantega and her SPAD squad and how they were waiting for a detailed analysis of the crime scene to determine their next course of action.

Anna followed behind. He was suffering too; Remy, she meant. They were also his children, he had reminded her on occasion. But it was different. It's always different for a mother. He hadn't carried them inside him for nine months. Hadn't sacrificed his previous life, his powers, his very identity for them.

She had, though. Sacrificed absolutely everything. God, she'd die if… She'd just die.

Anna leaned against the wall next to the door. She didn't feel capable of entering the room of her little babies and not fall apart. Holding back a few tears her eyes still managed to produce, she heard Remy admit he didn't know how the security system could have been fooled. Anna took a deep breath and bit her tongue. He was the one always gloating at how perfect _he_ had made the damned system, so how had it been so easily duped, huh? How could he have put together something that had so completely failed to protect their children? How?

"The same way ya fool any other perfect security system: ya get an insider ta help ya," she heard Logan say. "In this case, it was the nanny."

Milly? No! Anna knew Emily Brewster since before M-Day. She was the little Parrot who immitated voices and volunteered at nearby hospitals, assisting hospital clowns and learning from them.

"It ain't possible! We checked 'er background, 'er whole life!" Remy blurted. "Mon Dieu, we even talked Frost inta mind probin' her!"

"Then maybe someone got inside her mind," Logan said. "But one thing's fer sure: there are only five scents in this room. Yers, Rogue's, the kids' an' the nanny's. And _she_ tampered wi'the camera."

Creed came out just then and their eyes met for a moment before he averted his. Her instinct told her he was laughing at her pain, behind that serious front; and yet her mind told her those eyes might hold some degree of pity. Both ideas revolted her and she strove to swallow her pain.

"What do _you_ have ta say," she asked roughly.

The man turned to her with a cocked eyebrow and eyed Gambit, now at the door, cautiously.

"I agree with Logan," he said. "But since ya asked… ya ain't got no locators on 'em kids, do ya?"

What? Her mind reeled at the unexpected question. Remy called him insane, that no one puts locators on children.

"And why the hell not, huh?"

Why not indeed!

"When Isabel had my girl's ears pierced, I got her these lil' earrings with locators incorporated. They won't cover large distances, but they'll hold fer at least a couple o' miles, which should be good enough once she gets more autonomous an' more likely t'get herself lost in the woods or somethin'."

A couple of miles. It wasn't much, was it? How many couple of miles away would her children be by now…

"Yers may still be pretty much stuck t'babysitters, but ya just wait till they starts runnin' about. Ya never know with kids, boy. Ya turn yer eyes fer a _sec_ an' they're…"

Creed interrupted himself with a slight glance at her. He could have finished, though. Gone. You turn your eyes and they're gone. Ain't that the truth! Logan cleared his throat and started moving, saying they'd better carry on, that the nanny and the kids had gone down the corridor.

"Cher…"

Anna shooed him with a hand. She couldn't stand his touch right now. Not while… She should have been more careful, should have been with them, should have… should have gotten locators on them. Why hadn't she thought of that!

Remy was still trying to comfort her, but she didn't want to be comforted! She wanted… God, she wanted to kill Mystique with her bare hands! If only she could fly once more, she'd be out the window and hunting her down.

Logan and Creed had gone out of the building. When Anna and Remy joined them, they were both checking the cameras pointing at the playground for the few kindergarters and elementary students, which was in a different area from the older kids' recess zone. Creed was telling Logan something and took a cautious step back when both Anna and Remy joined them. What was the matter with him and this renitence? It was so unlike the psycho.

"Alors?"

Logan glanced at Creed then explained how the cameras had been fooled.

"Ya got these special drones that get attached t'cameras, record for a few minutes then overtake the camera's feed with a loop of its own feed. Ya gotta have a specialised pilot t'get the thing attached right an' t'make sure ya ain't gonna get any feed that blows its cover. Creed's had some experience with it."

Creed picked on Logan's cue and glanced at the camera, avoiding looking both at her and at Remy. What was his problem?

"One good pilot can handle two drones easily. Ya attach one an' fly the other t'the next location. Then ya get ready t' move the first one an' so on." He explained, a step behind Logan. "Wi'the tree cover ya got here, I'd say the babysitter had t'stop a few times t'give 'im time t' get the drones in place."

Anna shook her head.

"But the drones would'ave been spotted as they flew over the wall…" She looked at Remy, noticing his tight lips. "Right?"

"Oui mais... if someone brought it in, it could be flown without problems."

"So much fer the _perfect_ security system," Anna sneered.

Oh, she could kill him! And she turned sharply away from them, walked to the middle of the playground, grabbed hold of the swing structure, helpless anger choking her into breathlessness. She was about to burst into tears again, tears of pure hate and frustration. She had to get herself in control, think about how to find Mystique… She was going to kill her and _that_ was no empty threat.

"Nice place."

Anna swirled around to face Creed. He was eyeing the playground rides critically while, in the back, Remy and Logan were discussing something. She was very much aware that Creed had been keeping his distance so far… or until Logan got distracted? She had the word 'what?' on her lips but the voice didn't come out. For a moment, all she could think of was that the psychopath had worked with Mystique, that they'd been lovers even, and, for that moment, she hated him as much as if he'd been involved in the kidnapping. The fact that she was so dependent without her powers that she even depended on that long-time enemy cut her up even more deeply.

"I didn't know the Academy had a kindergarten," he said quietly. "Not until LeBeau mentioned it a moment ago."

Bile erupted and brought her voice back, low and snarling.

"What the hell do _you_ want wi'the kindergarten?"

He looked at her, his eyes steady and calm.

"I got a lil' baby girl o' my own, remember?"

It caught her off guard and she lost her edge. Part of it anyway.

"Anyways, I been lookin' fer places fer her ta start kindergarten but… _this_ is the safest place I've seen so far, only I can't very well come back an' forth every day, can I? Not unless Summers lets me borrow a jet an' that ain't gonna happen."

She scoffed, bitterness boiling into her voice.

"_This_ is the safest place? After today, ya got the nerve ta tell me _this_ is the safest place?"

The man shrugged and she could have murdered him. She could have murdered anyone.

"There was a weak point in the system, so what? After today, it'll be gone." He looked at her. "I don't wanna be steppin' on any toes, and especially not yers, but ya know perfectly well that, once ya got yer kids back, ya're still gonna keep 'em here 'cause this _is_ the safest place fer them."

Anna blinked and felt her anger ebb away, leaving only that hateful helplessness.

"Besides," he pushed one of the swings leasurely, his icy eyes following its to and fro, "the real weak point is Mystique… and I don't take ya as the type o' mother who'd let her… ya know, have a second opportunity."

Realisation was a bucket of icy water.

He glanced fleetingly at her and she saw it. The ice, the calculation, the… suggestion? Offer?

Anna turned and left. What else could she do right now?

She just… left.

One step at a time, away from Creed's temptation, away from the two men still arguing in the background. Away.

When she stopped, she was in the middle of her children's nursery and the tears that had been trickling down her face silently were cold and dry.

She could still see the man's golden eyes ahead of her. My lil' baby girl, his voice echoed. Mystique, the dangerous ex-lover. She saw it as clear as… Anna sat down on a little chair. Milly liked sitting on the tiny thing to be closer to the children when reading picture books to them. She'd spent the last four hours thinking it, and if a part of her could still timidly ask 'would you really?', every fiber of her being agreed: it ends here. Now and forever.

Anna got her cell phone to contact Sofía.

"Listen ta me," she said the moment the girl answered, and she was almost surprised at how steady her voice had come out. "The nanny was involved. Coerced, probably. Ah would appreciate it if ya could come up here and assist Gambit investigatin' that line of inquiry."

"Ok," Sofía answered. "In the mean time, we have issued an AMBER alert and warned the Canadian authorities that the abducters may attempt to cross the border. We should arrive in New York at about 4.30 pm and I'll go straight to Massachusetts."

Anna switched off with a hollow 'thanks' and took a deep breath before contacting Scott again. He sounded a bit awkward as he answered the call, but she cut him off.

"Ah just wanted ta tell ya that Sofía will be arrivin' in New York at 4.30 an' that we're gonna need her up here ASAP. There's been a development. D'ya think ya can give her a lift up on the jet?"

There was a moment of silence on the other side.

"I'll see what I can do," he answered cautiously. "What have you found out?"

Anna breathed out to keep her voice even.

"We got the name of a person who was involved. Say, is Hank gonna be at the Institute this evenin'? Ah really need ta talk ta him."

"Yes, but, if you want, he can take the jet to Massachusetts," he offered.

"No, he doesn't hav'ta come all the way up." Anna sighed. "And Scott… Ah'm sorry. Ah mean it; Ah know Ah wasn't bein' rational when…"

"No, no, Anna, I completely understand. We all do. But don't worry; together, we'll find the twins and we'll get them back in no time."

She hung up. She didn't have the strength right now to pretend hopeful cheers.

Working together. She scoffed bitterly and picked a rabbit plushie. Right there and then, she knew exactly who it included and excluded, 'working together'.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	14. Hot Heads, Cold Hearts

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**14\. Hot Heads, Cold Hearts**

"Ya gotta pull yerself together, LeBeau," Wolverine growled in a low voice.

For the first time in the last four hours – ever since discovering his petites were gone – Remy realised his hands were trembling. And, not for the first time, he felt the impotence of not knowing where to strike his enemy.

"I can't believe ya didn't immediately see the nanny was behind this, willin' or not. Hell, I can't believe ya've spent the last four damned hours sayin' ya don't know how this could'ave happened!"

Remy let his hands go through his hair, pulling it back, taut, but he didn't say anything. The homme had a point: he hadn't been thinking right.

"Ya know how this place's rigged inside out. Ya know there was only one way anyone was ever gonna take 'em kids. Inside help. Ya _know_ that!"

Of course he knew that! Why else had he secretly kept watch over every staff finance, for dangerous lows or sudden influxes of money. He even kept the families of the students under financial watch!

He couldn't have done more, outside turning the school into a Big Brother kind of place, which, if you kept the number of cameras in mind, wasn't far from happening. Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have pressed Forge into creating a system that effectively registered every action of every person within the premises. Then you'd add a list of forbidden actions and of suspicious ones and, whenever someone did one of them, an alarm would go off. Maybe.

"And ya're gonna tell me ya ain't ever heard o'this drone technique to evade cameras? Creed…"

Creed, the man of the locators. He would have turned the school into the meanest biggest brother ever. But where would freedom fit in? Isn't there supposed to be a balance between security and freedom?

"…ain't no thief; he don't care nuthin' 'bout clean entrances and exits, 'bout bein' seen or not. How come he knows 'bout this and _you_ don't?"

A dark, hollow chuckle bubbled out.

"Remy ain't been in de game," he said hoarsely.

"What d'ya mean?"

He took a deep breath and leaned on a tree. Shook his head.

"Anna, she is right. Me an' de guilds… dat connection is dangerous fer de petites. I ain't talked t'anyone fer over a year. I ain't even gone back ta New Orleans; ain't even…"

Remy sighed, frustrated, as an old memory of himself poked him. Talking to an old friend, down in the Big Easy, explaining that moonlighting was a way of keeping himself sharp. Of course the fun of it was the real reason, but the excuse had been sound. He couldn't help wondering why he had never seen that excuse as more than just an excuse. If he were still moonlighting…

"Remy ain't done a single theft dat wasn't necessary fer de X-Ops missions."

Which, in all honesty, had amounted to none. He had broken into plenty of places, true, but breaking in and thieving isn't quite the same. Besides, breaking in with a fellow thief is as different from breaking in with an X-Men as with an Assassin. Different aims, different traditions, different MOs.

"Thievin', Candra, guilds… I gone an' put it all behind me."

And now he was paying the price: falling behind on the cutting edge techniques of thieving. He had never cared much about it, to be honest. He'd always preferred the old-fashioned approach. But he had also kept in touch with members of the guild, even if only occasionally, and that means you hear about the novelties, either because they're friends sharing or enemies using them against you. Like the camera drones. He had never heard of it. If he had, he'd have set up alarms whenever a drone was flown anywhere in Snow Valley. Only he hadn't heard about it. He _hadn't_!

"Snap out of it!" The slap on his back made him aware he was charging the tree and Remy quickly breathed in, got himself back in control. "Ya need a cool head, now more 'an ever."

He knew that. And he was cool-headed. He was.

"Let's just go over it from the top, ok?"

Remy nodded. Thirty minutes to go from the nursery to the Frost Pond, and ten more minutes to reach the staff door. They had been spotted by some of the children in the elementary school building, but no one had thought much of it because Milly had been flying the drone and the Twins were just enjoying the stroll. They had been seen shortly after the classes had started, at about 8.30, so they had been taken between 9 and 9.15.

"Go back a sec," Wolverine frowned. "Where did she get the drone? Was it hers?"

Remy nodded.

"Her broder, he sent it t' her as a birt'day present or somethin'. T'was 'bout a couple o'weeks, in…"

He didn't finish. Milly's brother hadn't sent it. It had been part of the ploy from the beginning.

"Did ya check?"

Remy shook his head.

"I was in Paris at de time, 'member? But she took it t' de head o' security and asked his permission ta fly it. She showed 'im her broder's text message." Remy shook his head. "Ross told me 'bout it when I came back. Milly and Anna even showed me de photos dey took o' de petites wid its camera."

If he had known about the damned drones…

"Ok," Logan cut in. "So did someone impersonate the girl's brother or could he be involved?"

Remy had a 'no, dat's not possible' on his lips but he stopped himself. He'd played the fool long enough.

"Ronnie, dat's Milly's broder; Ronnie, he lives in Rochester near his family. He's six years older 'an Milly and he used ta work in Syracuse but den got a better offer in Rochester 'bout… hmm… I think t'was in February, so 'bout six, seven months ago. His finances are good and he ain't ever been in any mess. Deir parents ain't got no money problems eider."

Logan nodded.

"Let's say someone impersonated 'im…"

But Remy's mind was getting ahead of the conversation.

"Milly visited her parents last weekend," he said. His stomach grew cold as he recognised the obvious signs. "When she got back, she wasn't well. She was takin' dese pills she'd gotten from a doc back in Rochester an' she got real spooked 'bout the extra security checks. Asked if it meant de petites had ta stay inside all day. Said dey needed ta get some sun an' fresh air ev'ry mornin'."

"They used her family ta force her," Wolverine said.

Yes, it was obvious, now that he was finally thinking it through.

"We need ta contact 'em," it suddenly occurred to him. "If dey was bein' used…"

Whoever had needed them as leverage didn't need them anymore and would vanish, doing their best to erase every sign of their presence. He needed to get to the Brewsters' home and look for those signs. Signs which would help him discover their identities so he could hunt them down.

"Creed!"

Remy stopped for a moment to look back. Creed had just gotten up from a swing and was switching off his phone.

"Fergot ta warn 'em we wasn't gonna be at the Institute fer lunch," the man told Logan.

Hate grumbled hotly inside Remy's chest for a moment, but then he turned his back on the playground and hurried towards the Security Building. All of his secret files on staff and staff's family were there, in his office. He needed to contact Emily Brewster's family right now – mother, father and brother. The three of them. Whoever had coerced Milly, could have used the three or just one of them. The question was whether they had contacted them or whether they'd just told Milly her family would die. He hoped it was the former. If the kidnappers had actual attacked, held her family prisioner, they might have left something behind they could use to track them. For as long as they hadn't burnt wherever they'd been to the ground.

As he hurried through the security hall, on the ground floor, Ross called out to him, saying the AMBER alert had been issued a couple of hours ago. Remy stopped for a moment, his heart hoping for good news as his head scoffed: the police had been called 60 to 45 minutes after the kidnapping, about the same time as the FBI. But, again, the kidnapping had happened between 9 and 9.15. That time frame was etched into his brain. If the AMBER alert had been issued at about midday, it amounted to almost three hours of driving: the kidnappers could be almost anywhere!

Besides, toddlers look alike. The men only had to separate the children and go in different directions and who was the public going to spot? If at least there was a vehicle description people could promptly recognise… but no, obviously not. A professional would prepare everything for the children to be with a set of 'loving parents' acting as normal as possible. Cute baby hats would hide the children's conspicuous auburn hair and no one would ever think they were face to face with kidnapped babies.

"There have been a few phone calls with sightings," Ross told him. "But…"

The man shook his head and Remy turned his back on him. The AMBER alert would not help anyone this time. Not with professionals.

"The airports in Massachusetts and the surrounding states have all been warned," the man called out as Remy headed for his office. "Everyone with young children will be stopped and…"

He closed the door of his office. Any professional worth their pay would have bought tickets in advance and gotten documents. Hate sizzled through his veins as he went over a perfect abduction as performed by himself: locate two families with children that fit the description, swap their documents for good forgeries just shortly before the kidnapping, then use the real papers to get on two previously-booked flights to different, far-off locations. Drive somewhere farther away. Hand over the children and get the pay. Better than that, only if the people transporting the children were shapeshifters or had image inducers.

Remy checked the phone numbers of the entire Brewster family, including Milly's uncle in Syracuse and her brother's ex-girlfriend.

If anyone could get her hands on image-inducers, it was Mystique. His petites could be made to look older, younger, Asiatic, black… Who would ever recognise them? Not even their mamma!

No one answered at Milly's parents' so he tried their cell phones.

There was only one way. Identify the kidnappers and find out where they were supposed to hand in the children to Mystique.

Nothing. Milly's brother…

Time was of the essence, obviously. Once Mystique received the children, she wouldn't wait around. She'd move on.

Damnit! Remy tried Ronnie's work and someone said he had taken a week off to go on vacation. It had been a bit sudden but Ronnie rarely requested vacation days in advance, so it wasn't that weird.

Nevertheless, he rang up the guy's ex; got nothing for his trouble.

There was a weak point in Mystique's plan, though. Even if she used image inducers on the children, she'd still be a single mom with two children of the same age. That would be easier to spot than two pairs of professionals travelling with a single child each.

The uncle hadn't heard from his brother and sister-in-law for a month, but they didn't call each other every hour of the day. Remy didn't bother to thank before switching off.

The Brewsters were either sequestered or dead. But for as long as the place where they were kept was not fully destroyed, Remy would find a way to identify the kidnappers.

He left his office and headed outside. He briefly noticed that Creed was pissed at something, the words "…ain't got nuthin' t'do, I'll call her ev'ry time…" reached him but didn't really carry meaning to him.

And even if there were no clues left behind (though there would be – he'd find them), Remy was already going through all of his old contacts. Someone would help him track down those people, one way or the other.

He was almost at the staff's dorm when he saw Anna open the door. Her face was hard and composed. Good. She could work as a liaison between him and the FBI, so the feds wouldn't have to know exactly where he was, who with or doing exactly what.

The thing to keep in mind was that time was of the essence. If he left for Rochester now, he'd be there in about four hours, give or take twenty minutes. And then, he'd still have to head south to get in touch with his contacts. He needed a jet. Anna could…

"We need ta talk, Gambit."

His body came to a halt at that last word, but his mind had started refocussing itself the moment he'd heard Anna's freezing tone.

"Cher…"

"Inside." And he could see her eyes were dry, flashing with a level of anger that was not her usual. "Now. And _you_ _two_!"

Gambit turned to look back. Logan was cocking an eyebrow in reaction to Anna's behaviour while Creed kept that stupid guarded expression, as if he was trying not to irritate his arch-enemies.

"Go get the car," Anna told them. "An' be ready ta leave ta New York the moment I tell ya."

She turned to him, but Remy had gotten his bearings back.

"We ain't got no time fer…"

"Damn right we ain't got no time," she cut off, poison dripping more thickly with each word. "An' why's that, huh? Why? 'Cause _you_ failed my babies. Ya were supposed ta keep 'em safe, LeBeau, and ya messed up. _Again_. _You_ caused this, ya worthless thief. And _Ah_'m gonna fix it."

She had blamed him before, right when they'd discovered the children gone. She had accused him of neglect and recklessness. Of not caring about his own children. He had held her through the acusations, while she cried her heart out in despair.

This was completely different, though.

As Anna turned to follow Wolverine and Creed, Remy grabbed her by the arm.

"Dere's no time fer dis stupid blamin' game, Anna!"

"Don't ya touch me!"

She escaped his grip easily, especially as he hadn't held on hard. For a moment, he thought she wanted to hurt him. Physically. To pound her frustration on him till either he was dead or the petites reappeared magically, whichever happened first.

"We need ta focus," he insisted. "We need ta get de jet an'…"

"Go after Milly?" Anna interrupted again. "Knock yerself out. Cyclops is gonna give Sofía the jet so she can fly aroun lookin' fer Milly an' make all the nice lil' timelines o' the events she feels like. Ah'm sure the two of ya are gonna get along just fine. She should be here by 4.30. In the meantime, _Ah_'m gonna fix this mess an' get _mah_ babies back."

Remy was stunned. There were no words worth saying, he knew that. He also knew she'd repent the uncalled for harshness later on. She was hurt, powerless; she needed to vent. But it still stung.

He watched her walk away. What did she think she was going to do? Because there was nothing anyone could do till they knew where Mystique was waiting to receive the children, or where she had planned to take them to. Could Anna have a way to contact Mystique? No, she'd have said so if she did. But perhaps she thought she knew a way to find her and, obviously, didn't trust Remy to rescue their children. And what else was new? Since when had Anna ever trusted him to take care of the petites? Hell, she had never even admitted out loud he was good at bottle-feeding, diaper-changing or even just rocking them to sleep! Everyone else had both mocked and congratulated him over his ease handling the babies, but Anna? No, all he was ever good at was either goofing or not being around long enough. Well, someone had a job to do and it wasn't within 100 yards of the nursery.

"_Merde_!"

He took a deep breath and slowly released it. So Sofía was on her way with a jet, was she? Good. If he left now, he'd get to Rochester at half past six or later, if he got traffic. But if Sofía got there at 4.30… even if she was late and only arrived at 5! They could be in Rochester in ten or fifteen minutes with the jet. Then back again and perhaps he could get a lift to New Orleans.

That sounded like a good plan.

Two hours to wait, uh? He better start making contacts then. He'd start with his cousin Emil, then he'd phone Madame Camille. With any luck, he wouldn't even need to stop by the Big Easy.

Remy looked at the path Anna had stomped down.

She'd calm down.

And if she didn't, he'd still save their children while she burnt herself in powerless fury. What did she think she could accomplish, turning her back on his contacts and Sofía's means? What? Did she think the X-Men and the X-Ops would be able to find Mystique back in Paris? That was ridiculous! The woman knew all too well how to cover her tracks. No, the only place she might have left clues behind were places where she believed no one would come looking. Hidden places no one imagined she had been using.

Yes, he would need to find out all the places the shapeshifter had ever used as quiet hiding holes. If all else failed, that would be the way to go.

But first, phone calls.

* * *

Sitting in the car with nothing to do but looking out the window, Rogue felt the urge to cry her heart out. Again.

The icy determination that had made her contact Sofía and tell Gambit exactly how she felt about him seemed to have melted in the monotonous inaction of the car and she… she didn't know anymore. She would get her babies back, that she was indeed certain of; but the rest... Hate can make you say and do crazy things, but would she make it happen?

She would. Yes, she'd… if Mystique didn't hand her babies back the moment she was found, Rogue would… God, she wanted to either way. And the tears kept insisting in resurfacing! They made her weak, the tears and the crying. Made her doubt she could face Mystique the way she wanted to in those burning moments of hate. And now, she was almost willing to let her fostermother walk away for as long as she returned her babies safely.

It wouldn't do, this indecision. She blamed it on the journey. It was this inactivity that made her resolve waiver and made her feel as helpless as she'd been in the last couple of years. She ached to do something productive and neither watching cars being overcome nor overcoming them was it.

"Can't ya drive any faster?"

Once more, Logan didn't answer and Rogue took a fierce deep breath. This was going to be a hell of a long trip.

The buzzing of the cars was grating against her raw pain and the click-clicking from the back seat threatened to make her mood even more erratic. For once, Logan noticed her state of mind and barked at Creed, telling him to cut it out. And what was he doing anyway? Playing solitary on his cell phone?

"Up yers, boy! You all messed up an' now ya don't want me ta fix the problem _you_ kicked up? In yer dreams!"

From Logan's reaction, Creed wasn't in the habit of having such outbursts and Rogue was momentarily distracted by slight curiosity. What was the man talking about? What had he even been doing, after all? Whatever it had been, Rogue could tell he was now phon…

"Hey, Lil' Devil. How was lunch?"

His daughter, it must be. For some reason, Rogue had pictured her as a three-year-old and now realised she must be older.

"Uh-huh… No, Pappa ain't bringin' ya a bike. No."

"How old is she," she whispered to Logan, who grunted a five.

"Fer starters, I can't buy no bike in the middle o' the highway, can I?"

One thing was for sure, she was much better prepared than Creed. Her lil' babies already had their own tricycles and bicycles in the play room, just waiting for them to reach the right age and start pedalling away.

"What d'ya care if Zelig goes cycling with _his_ school friends tomorrow. They ain't _your_ friends. So what does it matter? Ya'll have yer own bike soon enough an' then ya can cycle wherever ya wants with _your own_ friends, not the boy's."

A sudden dark mood made her frown. But perhaps locators were more important than bikes.

"Pappa still can't buy ya no bike in the middle o' the high-way. Mamma will…"

She couldn't imagine anyone succeeding in taking the man's little girl the way her babies had been taken.

"That's enough, Victoria!"

Pretty name. So very predictable. But who was she to sneer? Wasn't her baby girl named after her mommie too?

"Ya want a bike? Then yer mamma can get ya one an' that's the end of it. Pappa's gonna switch off now. And I don't wanna hear a word 'bout no tantrum when I gets back, are we clear? Good. See ya."

Rogue smiled suddenly, blinking at the traitorous wetness in her eyes. _Her_ babies didn't throw tantrums. Their dispositions were too sweet for that.

"An' _that_ is what happens when ya try ta steal someone's kid!"

What? Rogue twisted in the seat in order to look straight at the man in the back.

"What did ya just say?"

"Oh ya don't know, do ya? 'Em X-Angels tried ta get my lil' girl away from me. Wanted us ta stop playin', stop eatin' together, stop ev'erythin'. Thought I was gonna go berserk an' kill her."

He scoffed, glaring sideways at Logan, and Rogue didn't know what to think.

"_You_ understand." She blinked, not understanding what he meant. "LeBeau, he was like the rest, he didn't understand. But y_ou_… _you_ know that the bond 'tween a parent and a child is sacred. _You_ would'ave believed me the moment ya heard me say I was ready ta become an X-Man fer the safety o' my Lil' Devil. 'Cause ya do _ev'ry_thin' fer yer babies. _Ev'ry_thin' and _any_thin'. They don't know what that is, but _you_ know."

She saw him back at the playground. "I don't take ya as the type o' mother who'd let her have a second opportunity." The psychopath (because she mustn't forget that was what he was) held her gaze steadily, intensely.

"Anythin'," he mouthed in silence.

That was how he knew what she had been thinking. Because you do _any_thing…

The man gave a sudden start and leaned forward.

"Wait, ya're a teacher, right? Ya're the one who can help me!"

Rogue felt a slight vertigo. The man's 'anything' was still resounding in her head, as well as her wish, the one he'd guessed, and the sudden change in his tone and stance didn't help. She could almost see herself in front of Mystique.

"Ya see, when they tried ta separate me from my baby girl, they ended up doin' the opposite. They got her 'gainst her Mamma."

Rogue frowned and shook her head, trying not to feel her once-upon-a-time fostermother's neck in her hands.

"Her Mamma ain't American; she's Portuguese. Obviously, Lilia can speak Portuguese too. Only now she refuses to 'cause I don't really speak the language. The stupidest thing ever!"

Rogue felt lost.

"Who's Lilia?"

"My baby girl, who else? Ain't ya been listenin' t' me?"

"Ah thought her name was Victoria."

The man smiled. A sideways, slightly twisted, heavily proud smile.

"Lilia Victoria," he almost purred. "She was born in Portugal, ya see, an' they have two first names plus a ton o' last names. Lilia Victoria de Fatima Creed-Kredall. That's her full name. Real unique, ain't it?"

Rogue forced a yeah and sat up straight. She got the impression she was about to get car-sick.

"Anyway, I know the basics o' Portuguese, an' since Isabel (that's her Mamma), since Isabel has already taught her the letters an' stuff, 'cause she's supposed ta start school next year; anyway, I been textin' Lilia in Portuguese an' then her Mamma helps her ta read it and spells her Portuguese answers so she can text me."

Damn, why was the car so stuffy?

"We got these word games an' what not, but Lilia is still throwing dumb tantrums every other day when her Mamma's around."

"Maybe she needs therapy," Rogue said.

The man was silent at that and Rogue rolled down the window. She needed some air. Closing her eyes, she could see herself flying. God, she hadn't flown – free like a bird and the wind itself – in over two years!

"Yeah, maybe. But it sure as hell ain't with Frost! And if I were you, I wouldn't let her near yer twins either. She had ta look after Lilia one mornin' an' nearly smacked her 'cause of a lil' tantrum. Pryde ain't got no trouble gettin' her ta behave; Frost is all mind wipes an' threats o' hurtin' her."

Rogue turned back, actually shocked.

"Are ya serious?"

"Damn right, I am!"

Rogue knew Frost wasn't the motherly type. Not in a long shot! But to…

"So, what d'ya say? Ya gonna help me cook up some kid games an' stuff ta help her learn Portuguese an' get along with her Mamma or what? 'Cause I sure as hell can't count on their lot," and he waved dismissively towards Logan. "_You_'re a Mamma, too. I know I can trust _you_. I know ya'll do what's right. What has ta be done. You an' me, we can fix the problem. What d'ya say?"

The glint in the man's eye told her he wasn't really talking about the games anymore. He was talking about Mystique.

A wave of nausea had her sit straight again.

She could see herself doing it in a moment of passion. Killing her. In the heat of the battle, for example. When her hate overwhelmed her. She could see it happening so clearly. But, despite her burning anger, she was now fully aware that, if she did kill Mystique (and just to put it in words, that clearly, felt dangerous); if she did kill Mystique, it would be after days, maybe a couple of weeks (God, it couldn't be longer than that!). If she did kill Mystique, it was likely to be in cold blood. Because she'd have enough time to plan it. To predict what she'd do and how to counteract it.

And it was different, wasn't it? To kill in the heat of the moment, or to kill in cold-blood.

Rogue had been a criminal once, a life time ago. She hadn't cared about anyone else, but herself and her family of misfits. She hadn't cared if she killed.

A life time ago.

Would she go back to being that old Rogue if she did this? In cold blood, she meant.

Maybe Mystique would fight back. Maybe Mystique would try to kill someone herself and Rogue would be able to kill her in self-defense. In the heat of the battle. More like a hero than a criminal. Killed almost as if by accident. She _could_ make it look like an accident.

_"You an' me."_

Rogue breathed in. He was under the X-Men's control. She remembered Gambit saying something about bracelets. He wouldn't hesitate to kill Mystique in order to keep his daughter safe, obviously, because he was and would always be a psychopath who enjoyed murdering. He didn't need excuses to kill… except that they kept him in check so he wouldn't be able to kill, not even to protect his baby. On the other hand, he had become a hero for his daughter. He had gone against his own nature, then.

_"You're a Mamma, too."_

Yes, she was. Just like he was a daddy.

_"I know I can trust you."_

Because, unlike everyone else, she knew (just like he knew) that you do anything to protect your babies. Even going against one's nature.

Her hands were cold. Rogue looked down at them. No. She wouldn't strangle Mystique to death. She wouldn't beat her to death. She wouldn't crush her to death.

She wouldn't even say a single word. No 'how could you's and no 'why's. She would simply…

…simply…

…

Kill her. Fast and clean. Not that the heartless creature deserved an easy death but simply because she didn't deserve the attention.

"How old did ya say yer girl is?"

She could almost sense the joy (did psychos feel joy?) emanating from Creed.

"Five. Five an' a half. An' real smart too!"

She'd have to talk to him privately though. She was certain the man had an idea – a much clearer idea, probably – about how to do it. Permanently. Because Rogue knew full well Mystique's powers made her as hard to kill as Logan himself. With a bit of luck, Creed would know how to do it permamently, no risk of returning from the dead. He was the expert, after all. They'd do it together.

She was the only person he could trust, was she? Wasn't it curious he was about to become the only person she could trust to make this happen? Because no one could as much as dream what she was going to do, could they? They might understand her, but they'd still stop her, and the danger to her children would never disappear.

"Tell me 'bout these games ya play."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	15. The Return

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**15\. The Return**

Logan had once thought Rogue was crazy to give up the X-Men. It had nothing to do with the fact she'd decided to constantly wear power inhibitors; he understood a mother wouldn't want to risk an accidental touch that could harm her kids. And, again, it wasn't that he didn't understand her desire to dedicate herself full-time to motherhood, but rather that… Rogue actually becoming a home-maker? The two words just didn't fit together. Mind you, he had kept his mouth very much shut on that opinion. You do not cross a mother bear and Rogue had shown the potential to be far more dangerous than one on the very day she'd announced her pregnancy. You simply did not point a reproachful finger towards her family, not even Gambit, unless you wanted to get your head chewed off.

Driving back from Massachusetts to Westchester, Rogue on the passenger seat and Creed in the back, Logan was following his survival instinct and keeping his mouth very much shut.

First of all, there had been something wrong in the way Rogue had taken Gambit aside for a conversation. Ever since Logan and Creed's arrival, Rogue had been on the verge of a break-down; at that moment, she couldn't have been further from one. She had the purposefulness and the glint of way back, when she'd been leading the X-Men. When she had come out of the conversation, she had simply ordered both Logan and Creed into the car. They hadn't even seen LeBeau. She had explained that Gambit (a name she hadn't used for the guy ever since getting pregnant) was to follow up on Milly's lead while she was going to follow up on Mystique's in New York, but how that was supposed to play out, Logan hadn't the slightest. Still, he'd bet his claws Rogue had a plan and it would have a low rate of approval from the rest of the X-Men. Time would tell.

Secondly, Rogue had hit it off with Creed so well, the guy had so far spent the entire trip telling her how he and Isabel were teaching Lilia to read in Portuguese by texting these word games and puzzles and what not, then proceeded to ask her professional opinion on them. And Rogue kept yapping, absent-mindedly, about the pedagogical advantages and disadvantages of those games while coming up with suggestions for more activities. Logan was beginning to feel he was trapped in the blasted Twilight Zone.

And let's be realistic: Creed knew how to get on with people… when it suited him. More specifically, when getting on meant getting closer to fulfilling a plan. What Logan couldn't see was how getting on with Rogue would help him. He'd have better reasons to get on with Frost, since she could influence Scott into allowing him more privileges. And Rogue! Why would she even have an interest? Sure, the guy had played the sympathetic cards. He had kicked off saying Mystique had gone over every limit, that the bond between parent and child is sacred. Then he had underlined how messed up his little girl had become when the X-Men had tried to undermine her love for her father. They just can't differentiate between Sabretooth and a zealous father, he'd complained. He was purely pulling her strings and she was letting him.

He couldn't wait to get back to Westchester and have a little chat with Rogue, find out exactly why she was playing along.

* * *

Isabel had baked the cake against Kitty's orders. As a matter of fact, everything she'd done that day had been against her friend's orders. Her wrists were far from being healed, Kitty had insisted, only five days after the mind probe, and Isabel should avoid efforts that could either reopen the wounds or otherwise delay their closing. But Isabel had been sleeping poorly ever since the mind probe, not to mention she had forced herself to spend the previous night wide awake and had yet to manage more than a half an hour nap, so she had needed to do something to keep her eyes open, and that had meant making lunch, cleaning the kitchen afterwards and baking the cake.

It turned out it had been a good idea. Sofía Mantega, a colleague of Jubilee's and former X-Men, had just arrived from a long flight and was now appreciating the treat, alongside some peanut butter sandwiches. Outside the kitchen, standing by the door and gazing blankly at the wooded horizon, she could hear them talk: Emma Frost, Bobby Drake, Kitty. They were discussing their next move while waiting for Summers and Dr McCoy to return fr… Ah, that was the jet. They had arrived then. She wondered if Jubilee had managed to find the missing children. She hoped so…

She sighed, sleepiness biting her. Maybe she should just go back to Wolfy's pen and watch Lilia playing with the pup. Her baby girl might even finally ask her for the bicycle. Jenny had stopped by to ask if there was anything she could do to help and Lilia had asked her if Zelig could come and play the next day, which was a Saturday… only he had a play-date with some school colleagues, riding their bikes in a park or property somewhere. Lilia had immediately wanted a bicycle too, but she'd insisted Pappa had to be the one to buy it. After talking to him, though, she'd sulked and Isabel had been hoping she'd ask her to go and buy it.

She shook her head and took a couple of steps away from the door before returning. She'd go and buy that bicycle as soon as she had an opening, whether Lilia asked her for it or not, that much was a given. Right now, though, she needed to hear the news about the kidnapped children.

A mother's worst nightmare. Naturally, this Anna, who had had the twins taken away by her own fostermother, was bound to be in agony; but what about the other mothers? The ones whose children had been taken and there was no guarantee whether the kidnappers would keep the children alive? It's bad to know your child is gone but will be taken care of, to know your child gone and who knows… God, it made her skin crawl!

The phone in her pocket rang then and Isabel jumped, nearly ran away from the kitchen door. As she looked at the screen though, she groaned. It wasn't Victor. After a deep breath to make her voice cheerful, she answered.

"Hi, Leslie."

"Isabel! I've been trying to call you but your phone's dead, so I decided to phone your husband. Is everything ok? I was starting to get worried."

"Isabel shook her head, even thought her friend couldn't see it.

"My phone was destroyed, so I'm using his until I buy a new one."

But when would that be?

"How is everything in Canyon?"

"Oh, honey, I'm a grandma!" The woman screeched and Isabel got the phone away from her ear. "A beautiful baby boy, Isabel! 8.4 pounds!"

For some stupid reason, Isabel felt like crying at the sound of her neighbor's voice. Ex-neighbor.

"They're going to call him _Emory_. Have you ever heard a dumber name? Emory! You know I talked to Pru and she looked it up and there's more girls with that name than boys? Good gracious! My Patrick hates the name too, but Fred has his heart on it. I don't know what's wrong with that boy." The woman sighed. "I'll send you a photo as soon as I talk to Pru about it. I just can't figure out how to do it."

"I'd love to see a photo, yes."

But she didn't want to. She didn't want to look at the photo of a newborn baby boy and think about the baby she'd lost. She so wanted a baby boy herself!

"I am very, very glad for you, Leslie." That wasn't a lie. Even if she envied little Emory's parents right now, she was still glad for their good fortune. "And how's Adela?"

The woman laughed that Adela was as strong as an ox, could have birthed two more of the same size without breaking a sweat. Isabel couldn't help laughing and hoped Leslie didn't go about saying that. Adela would take a long time to forgive her mother-in-law.

"And how's everything else? How's everyone?"

She could see Leslie shrugging, that everything was fine as usual. Grady was still talking about building some more cabins for tourists by the Arrow Creek, Lena had a new girl waitressing that wasn't going to go far, Colby had finally bought a place – the one by the florist, you know, that used to sell fishing material – to open the antiques shop he'd been babbling about for years, what else?

"Oh, you'll want to inform Lilia her sweet-heart Matt got himself in big trouble just before school started. Got caught throwing stones at the classroom windows. Figured he could delay the beginning of school, can you believe it?"

Isabel managed a 'right, right' and breathed out. School. She'd been thinking about her previous decision of staying up all night. She couldn't really sleep properly during the day either, since she had to be with her little girl. Sure, she could find someone to watch over her some days, but not when there was some important job going on as finding kidnapped children.

"…Foyle was furious!" Leslie was saying. "You know how particular he is about his horses and, apparently, poor Black Mona was a favourite of his. Well, one of the many favourite ones. Anyway, the vet said there was nothing that could be done about the broken..."

If she kept staying up all night, every night until her nightmares went away… It just wasn't going to work. Then, when Leslie had said 'school', the idea had just popped up, sound and logic, but Isabel couldn't consider it seriously. No. It was off the table.

"…locked him up for the night and threatened to confiscate every weapon he owned," Leslie carried on. "That helped, especially because the Mounties couldn't find who had done all those traps in the horse-riding path. What a crazy thing to do! It was sheer luck that woman didn't break her neck."

"Right," Isabel reacted, and wondered briefly how many times she'd responded that exact line.

"What about you? You sound a bit… down. Is something wrong?"

Isabel closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Everything's fine." She'd said that so many times, even to her ears 'fine' had started to sound like 'wrong'.

"Oh, honey… You didn't have another miscarriage, did you?" She wasn't going to lie but she didn't have the nerve to say 'yes' and, anyway, Leslie was good at reading silences. "And me babbling about my baby boy. When was it?"

"Almost three weeks ago," she admitted.

"Ah, poor darling. Well, you take care of yourself, you hear? Drink some spruce needle tea and make some dandelion salad with huckleberries to help you get your strength back."

Leslie's solution to every problem: salads and tea.

"Thanks, I will." Isabel started moving slowly towards the pup's pen. "I'm going to phone Adela in two or three days, too. Say hi to everyone for me."

Isabel felt her strength drain as she put the phone back in the pocket. She closed her eyes and breathed out almost violently. Stop thinking about the unborn baby, she told herself. What does it matter if it was a girl or a boy? Even if McCoy could have told her that (_should_ have!), what did it change?

"Stop it!" She told herself in Portuguese and her legs picked up an angry rhythm as she walked away from the kitchen door. "What you have to think about is dinner. Not… not anything else. Dinner!"

Only there were other things she had to think about. She couldn't spend every night awake to avoid nightmares if she didn't get the chance to sleep during the day. But who would look after Lilia if she was taking naps for hours! No. She had to find a way to fix the problem.

She kept walking, her tired brain looking for solutions in slow motion. She'd spend a couple of hours with Lilia, by the dog pen, and then she'd go back in to fix dinner. After all, she couldn't make dinner while there were people in the kitchen. Kitty would kick her out and McCoy… God! These people were worse than Victor. She had taken ages to get it inside that thick skull of his that she wasn't a frail about to break at the slightest bump and now every X-Men in the world had decided she was indeed a frail about to shatter and treated her accordingly. It was enfuriating! But if they thought she was going to bow and obey their restrictions, they had another thing coming. The moment they left the kitchen, she was going in to start cooking. She had no idea if Victor was coming for dinner, he might very well go straight from the Academy to wherever the kidnapped twins might be being kept, but she had decided she'd make steaks nonetheless. She felt like eating steaks at any rate. Stewed steaks.

She turned the corner and froze. Inside the pen, the puppy was trying to bite the ball that kept rolling away. Where was Lilia? The girl could stay inside that pen for hours playing with Wolfy and Isabel had checked on her fifteen minutes ago, before going back to take the steaks out of the freezer and get an earful from Kitty.

Isabel glanced about her and, not seeing the child, ran towards the swimming pool. But no, she wasn't there. She picked Victor's phone and switched on the app to track the girl's earring locators.

* * *

As Logan and Rogue left the garage towards the front door, Creed grinned fleetingly and, dropping the cooler in front of the garage door, went in the opposite direction.

"Hey," Logan predictably called. "Where are ya goin'?"

But Creed lifted a finger and stopped only at the corner of the building. By then the guy had already thought of using his nose and was telling Rogue who was on her way.

She turned the corner at full speed and Creed immediately picked her up, which caused his Lil' Devil to squeal "Pappa!" with pure delight. He threw her up, high in the air, and she squealed higher. When he got back to Logan and Rogue, supporting her on one arm, he could see how pained the momma's face was.

"Lilia, say 'hi' ta Anna Marie." The girl chirped her happy 'hi'. "Now, ya listen ta Pappa: Anna Marie has two babies. But a bad, bad woman took her babies away, ok? So, what is Pappa gonna do?"

She sulked a bit before mumbling.

"You'e going away."

He'd gambled the girl wouldn't throw a jealous fit in front of the bereaved momma, and he felt smug it was working.

"Pappa is gonna help save 'em babies," he explained, keeping his eyes on the child but his ears on Rogue's stiff breathing and angry heart beat. "Ya look at poor Anna Marie, here, so sad without her babies, and ya tell me ya don't want Pappa ta help save 'em babies an' punish the bad, bad woman who took 'em, huh?"

Lilia glanced guiltily at Rogue and nodded unconvincingly.

"That's my Lil' Devil," he praised as he reached down and got the cooler.

"What's that?"

Creed hurried after Logan and Rogue and grinned.

"It ain't fer you, Lil' Devil."

Logan headed for the kitchen the moment he entered the building and Creed followed. His nose was all he needed to know everyone was ins… Isabel burst out of the kitchen, wrapped in the scent of fear, and Creed stopped, even as she blurted a suddenly relieved 'Lilia'.

"Been playin' catch with yer mamma, have ya?"

She better not be getting in the habit of escaping her mamma, and his good mood took a plunge into irritation. Especially as he took in Isabel's pale face and those dark circles under her eyes.

"No, Pappa, I was pwayin' with Woofy."

Had probably sneaked away when she'd sensed him. No need for worries on that side, then. As for Isabel… she had told him her nights were uneventfully problem-free while they were texting, early in the morning. Obviously, she had lied. He was going to fix all that soon enough, though.

"Then ya go right back ta playin' with Wolfy," he said, signalling Isabel to follow him as he entered the kitchen and headed to the back door. "Off ya go. Pappa gotta talk ta Mr Summers an' t'Mamma. I'll go get ya in a lil' while."

Behind him, Rogue was whisking McCoy away while failing to save Logan from Summers.

"But I _don't want_ to!"

Creed forgot about the drama in the kitchen in a heartbeat. His daughter did not talk back in that tone. Nor did she glare at him angrily.

"You, Lilia Victoria, are goin' t'the dog's pen _right now_." He snarled. "And ya're gonna wait fer me at the door. D'ya hear?"

Her eyes blinked rapidly and he could see the struggle between the tantrum and the obedience.

"And ya don't _ever_ talk back like that again, are we clear? Are we clear, Lilia Victoria?"

She nodded, her pout miserable but still angry, and took off in a race that turned into a sobbed crawl after half a dozen steps.

If this was her behaviour towards Isabel, pansy texting games were not going to fix the problem. No, he was going to have to take the matter in his hands and fix it a bit more forcefully. Hell! He'd brought the woman and the child here to keep them near and safe, and instead the X-Men were managing to turn his baby girl into a disrespectful brat. Like hell was he putting up with that!

He looked about the kitchen, where Summers was still grilling a disgruntled Logan. Even though McCoy had left with Rogue, Pryde and Rasputin were still there. He knew Frost had decided to accompany the Mantega girl back to the Academy, in order to tone down the fall-out of the kidnapping, and that she was taking Drake to keep an eye on the other parent. So where was Wagner? Had he stayed with Jubilee's squad?

His eye turned to Isabel, sheepishly by the door. He signalled her to approach and set the cooler on the table. With any luck, they were all so busy telling off Logan, they wouldn't notice the cooler's content. As much as he'd rather avoid a wave of general appallness, he wanted Isabel to experience the full impact. It might just put an end to the nightmares he _knew_ she was having no matter what she claimed.

"Open it," she stole a glance at the cooler but didn't approach it. "Go on."

Hoping the grilling would take a bit longer, although it was probably at its end, Creed grabbed the woman by the arm and pushed her towards the cooler, keeping his eyes on her face, reading her reaction. She was definitely not well. If he were to guess, he'd say she hadn't slept a wink last night. She looked that tired. But the way she kept her lips in a tight line also told him she was running on her stubbornness (so what else was new) and that meant she was hiding something, whether from him, the X-assholes or everyone.

The list of hidden problems started with the nightmares and sleepless nights, obviously, and it was also probably safe to add that she was pretending her wrists didn't hurt when they probably did and… what else? Well, if he knew those people, they wanted her to lie down and do nothing so she was probably pissed to no end about it because she hated to lie down and do nothing, especially when she wasn't feeling right.

Well, knowing she was truly safe – that _he_ had made sure she was truly safe – should have enough impact to help her get over the first problem of that list.

"Despacha-te," he grumbled as low as possible in Portuguese.

She nodded nervously and did hurry up to remove the lid.

He had a perfect picture of her profile as her eyes opened wide for a moment and her breath came to a halt, then she whipped her head to face him but said nothing. Unfortunately, it got Logan's attention, which meant Summers and everyone else were suddenly curious too. His perifereal vision caught every head turning to them. Damnit.

"The one that had gotten away," Creed explained to Isabel.

"Is that..." Pryde choked after getting up to peek into the cooler.

"A human heart, yupe," Logan clarified for everyone's benefit. Asshole.

Isabel didn't seem to notice the comments, even though Summers was once again seething in the background.

"You _let_ him rip a man's heart out? What the fuck were you…"

Hell, if Logan was getting the blame for the whole thing, he might as well take full advantage of it!

"He wasn't the only one who could skin folks alive," he leaned on the table, getting Isabel's attention, but was still careful to keep his voice down. "And I disembowled 'im alive too. When it's done right, ya can live fer quite some time with yer guts on the outside, ya know."

"You're worse than him!"

"Give it a break!" The runt finally bucked at the telling off. "He's…"

"Out ta have a word wi' the kid," Creed said loud and clear. "I know ya're dyin' ta chomp my head off, so I ain't gonna take long. In the meantime, I'm sure McCoy is gonna get pretty pissed if Logan doesn't get his ass in the infirmary in the next five seconds or so…"

Logan had the nerve to glare at him before taking the opening to leave the kitchen, the ungrateful ass.

"See ya in yer office," Creed opened the backdoor and looked at Isabel.

She was holding the cooler against her body and he was sure he could see a look of relief on her face as she gazed at the lump of flesh inside it. The only thing he was sorry about was not having had the chance of really skinning and disembowelling the guy alive. Fortunately, Isabel didn't have to know that.

"Ya know what, Nesi," she quickly glanced back at him. "The whimp didn't die till I ripped his heart out. Didn't have enough spirit in 'im t'scream much by then, though."

And he hurried out under Summers's loud appalled sensitivity. Creed was going to get locked next, he was sure of that, but it was worth it. He felt amazingly refreshed after settling that part of their past once and for all. Even if he had had to do it with Logan. Whether the runt admitted it or not, as much as they hated each other, when they were both in working mode, they actually got on fairly well. Better yet, they got on very efficiently.

And now that Isabel's problem was fixed, it was time to fix his Lil' Devil's. The moment he turned the corner and saw the dog pen, his irritation at the girl's gall resurfaced. But as he came closer and got a good view of the child, the irritation turned to cold hatred against the X-morons. His baby girl was sitting on the ground, next to the kennel, the puppy whining and licking her face while she held her knees to her chin with an angrily resentful scowl firmly set.

She didn't look up as he approached. Not even when he crouched in front of her and pushed the puppy aside, snarling at it when it had the gall to growl.

She did look when the pup whined fearfully, though, and he met her glare.

"What's the matter with ya, girl?"

She glared quickly at the ground and blurted a 'I hate you'.

He didn't react for two reasons. First, the child's strike hadn't caught him off guard. A couple of years ago, Isabel had warned him the girl would one day tell him those exact words. He had bet she wouldn't. Not until she was a teenager in the woes of teenage trademark angst, anyway. Secondly, he knew that throwing something unexpected at the girl's fits was the best way to end the tantrum.

"Then ya'll be happy ta know ya just made me lose a bet."

Confusion at the unexpected reaction got the anger away from her gaze for a moment.

"Yer Mamma bet ya'd hate me one day and I bet ya wouldn't. Oh well," he started getting up. "Guess I should leave now."

"No!"

Creed looked down at her.

"If ya hates me, that means ya wants me ta leave," he informed her, which got the tears to her eyes and a big wail for 'colinho'.

She always went back to Portuguese when she caved in. Nevertheless, he didn't immediately pick her up. And it wasn't as punishment for daring to say she hated him. He was dead sure, at that moment, that the girl was using that line against Isabel. Dead sure.

"Shush," he said tersely, and she did.

He could see the hurt surprise at not being held once she had submitted, but he had to make sure she understood this lesson and perhaps a bit of hurt was the thing to drive it home.

"If ya hate someone, what do ya want that person ta do?"

It took a bit of coaching until she meowed that 'if you hate a person, you want them to go away'.

Creed crouched again and held one of her little hands.

"Good. Now… do ya hate yer mamma?"

He saw the indecision in her eyes, saw the way her little head was going over the consequences of saying one or the other. Slowly she shook her head in a negative.

"Good," and he did pick her up now, he did cuddle her. "Ya see, Lil' Devil, yer Mamma is mine. Forever and ever. If ya ever wanted her ta go away, I'd have ta go away with her too."

Fear enveloped her little body and Creed could have growled at himself. He should have had this conversation with the girl earlier.

"But ya don't hate yer Mamma, do ya?" He held her so she could see his face. "'Course ya don't. Ya know why? 'Cause we're family. And ya know what family means? It means we all wanna stay together. It means… it means I take care of ya. No matter what. Say it, Lil' Devil, why does Pappa take care o' you an' Mamma? Why?"

"'Cause we'e famiwy," she mumbled after a bit of coaxing.

He smiled to encourage her.

"That's my smart Lil'Devil. And yer Mamma? She looks after you an'me. Why?"

"'Cause of famiwy," she meowed.

"That's right. And you, Lilia? What do _you_ do fer _your_ family?" The child shrugged and he hammered in the whole idea from the beginning. "I look after ya both 'cause ya're family; yer Mamma looks after us both 'cause we're family. What about you? Me an' Mamma are yer family, Lilia. So what d'ya do?"

The girl huffed and puffed and finally let her complain out: "You'e stwong, Pappa. You don't need anyone to look afte' you."

He'd say it for her benefit.

"Yer Mamma and you are my family, and I _need_ to look after _the two_ of you." He let the idea sink in and forced the rest out. For his baby's benefit alone. "And 'cause yer Mamma and you are my family, I… need_ the two_ of ya ta look after me."

"But you'e stwong, Pappa!"

"Strong ain't got nuthin' t'do with it! I need yer Mamma and you t'watch my back, t'keep everythin' in place, t'make sure everythin' is as it should be." And that was actually true, too. He needed Isabel to take care of his daughter, after all. "D'ya understand that? I _need both_ of ya."

She didn't look thoroughly convinced but she nodded. Still he needed her absolutely convinced.

"Ya remember when Pappa was sick?"

She nodded, suddenly serious.

"Mamma didn't wet me he'p!"

Ah, was that what had started the resentment?

"No, 'cause it was hard work and she wanted t'_protect_ ya from that hard work." The child wasn't happy but at least she didn't pout. "Yet she expected ya t'do yer part and wait till Pappa was out o' the infirmary. Ya did help me then, remember?"

A proud smile shone on the girl's face as she clearly remembered how Pappa had wanted her around him almost all day long, all the way till he had resumed his missions.

"I he'ped in the Gym," she claimed and Creed nodded.

"So, Pappa needs you an' Mamma 'cause ya're family," he repeated. "And you?"

"I need Pappa and Mamma 'cause you'e famiwy," she yapped it almost without thinking.

"And yer Mamma?"

Lilia sighed but gave in.

"Mamma needs me and Pappa 'cause we'e famiwy."

Creed smiled proudly and ruffled her hair.

"Now, what does Pappa do fer you an' Mamma?"

"Pappa wooks after us," she once more yapped and after a signal continued: "'cause we'e famiwy."

"And what does Mamma do fer you and Pappa?"

"Mamma wooks after us 'cause we'e famiwy," she said confidently.

"And what do _you_ do fer Pappa an' fer Mamma?"

A slight hesitation.

"I wook after you 'cause you'e famiwy."

Creed placed his hand on her face, feeling its warmth.

"That's my smart Lil'Devil," he praised proudly and intently, enjoying the bright happiness in her brown eyes.

"Pappa needs yer help." She gazed at him, eager and alert. "Pappa has ta go an' save those two babies an' then make sure the bad, bad woman that took 'em ain't gonna hurt no one else. 'Cause she could hurt anyone, ya kow. Even you an' Mamma. So Pappa has ta stop her. Because of you an' Mamma."

She frowned but nodded.

"Pappa needs ya ta look after Mamma while I'm huntin' the bad woman. Can ya do that fer Pappa? Can ya?"

She breathed out with resolve and nodded once with serious determination.

* * *

"If ya think Ah'm gonna sit down an' do nuthin', ya need a fuckin' claw t'yer brains!"

God, was she out of practice! Even as Rogue took a deep breath to get Logan's tendency for berserker rages to back down, that was the main idea grumbling in her mind. Out – of – practice. It just wouldn't do.

"Have you finished?"

With a snarl, she let go of Scott's neck. She didn't step away though, nor did she sheath the bone claws protruding painfully in-between her knuckles.

"Weren't you going to absorb _only_ Logan's healing factor?"

If the guy thought she was going to admit she had basically forgotten the little control over her powers she had once possessed, he was retarded.

"It's been over two years and a half, Anna…"

"_Rogue_," she snarled. "And Ah don't care how long it's been. Ah'm gonna get my babies back and Ah'll kill whoever gets in my way. Got it?"

Scott took a deep breath.

"In that case, I suggest you either get Logan's feral side in check or take a nap while his charming personality fades."

She got away from him and paced the infirmary, sheathed the claws. Then punched the nearest bed. The guy was right, though. She needed to get her temper in check, with or without the influence of Logan's psyche. She snarled at the bed, viciously. Lucky thing she had absorbed too much. Her threat was now seen as nothing more than the effect of a borrowed personality.

"We are going down to my office," Scott added. "Join us when you feel like yourself again."

Rogue wouldn't feel like herself until she had her babies back, but she kept her mouth shut. They left the room, Scott and Logan and… everyone. Everyone except Hank, who remained sitting quietly. A deep breath. Okay. She was going to leave the infirmary and go to the office. She was going to hear, not say a word, just hear, as the next move was planned. And she was not going to say a word. Not a single one, or she'd just burst anew.

"How do you feel?" She glared sideways at Hank. "I mean physically."

Oh. Right. Rogue rubbed her face and breathed out.

"Fine," she answered. "Absolutely fine."

She needed to go outside and practice her flying skills, though. Or better yet, she should get herself a sparring partner and go to the Danger Room. Mystique was a skilled fighter, after all, and she'd need to be at the top of her game if she was going to face her.

"Com'on, Hank. Let's go down."

Rogue jogged down the corridor and down the stairs, and only remembered she could have flown there when she was practically at the office's door. Logan's psyche and powers had finished fading away so she didn't have an early warning to prepare her newly imposed calm for a test as she entered the office and saw Creed's daughter.

God, it bled her heart, seeing the man's little girl smiling gleefully in his arms. How she longed to hold her children!

His golden eyes met hers and she felt a shiver. Then he turned his back and opened the window.

"Off ya go," he told the disappointed child as he dropped her outside. "Now don't ya forget what Pappa told ya. I'm countin' on ya, Lil' Devil. Go on."

"Now we can finally focus on the matter at hand," Scott glared at Creed then gave her an annoyed glance. "I've already contacted Bishop and Sam. They're heading to Chantal Moreau's apartment as we speak, to look for any clues."

Mystique was too experienced to leave clues. If anything, she might leave some pointing in the wrong direction.

"Kurt should arrive with the jet any minute now, which takes us back to the main question: who is going to Paris to hunt Mystique."

He crossed his arms and looked straight at Rogue, who bit her tongue to keep herself mum.

"I will be leading this mission and I expect _everyone_ to follow my instructions to the letter." Yeah, yeah. Rogue nodded in accordance to make him carry on. "I will be taking the following X-Men with me: Wolverine, Tigard and Shadowcat."

Rogue took a deep breath but said nothing. She'd fly after them. She sure as hell would lose all the rust when it came to flying, that way.

"Hank, you and Kurt will be on stand-by to assist Jubilee. I've talked to the Fantastic Four and they'll give you a lift on one of their jets if necessary."

But she'd have a little talk with Scott Summers first. Who the hell did he think he was to hold her back, huh? Who?

"Anna Marie…"

"Rogue!" She snapped.

"You are not part of the X-Men anymore," and she closed her fists hard to hold her tongue and her punches in place. "You have not trained in almost three years. You know you are not fit to be a full participant in this mission, not emotionally and not physically. If you come…"

Her anger halted at the prospect.

"… you will do so as an observer." She breathed out in a mix of relief and incredulity. Observer my ass! "Do you understand?"

She nodded, afraid that a single word might be the beginning of a rant that gave her hand away.

"Good." He looked at his watch. "I expect everyone in the hangar at 6.30. I suggest you all get a change of clothes and something to eat during the flight. For those who haven't crossed the Ocean in the last years, remember it's a four-hour flight."

* * *

I know Creed's approach isn't the most appropriate, but he is no psychologist. On the other hand, he is doing his best to fix the problem.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	16. Investigating

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**16\. Investigating**

Gambit went outside Milly's house for a smoke.

The people who had taken his children were both kidnappers and murderers. He recalled what his cousin Emil had told him: kidnapping was not thieving. Desideria either contacted the Guild to find the perfect person for a job, or by-passed them to directly contact guild members who were, by now, habitually employed by the European group. However, the only jobs they brought to the Guild were thefts. Objects, never people.

Even though Creed had insisted the group didn't accept killing requests, Gambit had nonetheless asked Emil to check whether the Assassins Guild might have a similar protocol. He'd promised to look into it, but, as far as he knew, no, they didn't.

Sofía Mantega came out and stood next to him, her gaze on the houses opposite.

"It seems they were killed during the night. Some time between midnight and five am."

He nodded, having guessed that much himself. Probably just before the group had left for the Academy.

"At least they were killed swiftly," the young woman whispered.

Yeah. They'd only spent five and a half days tied on the sofa, imagining how it was all going to end.

"Are you going to New Orleans now?" He glanced over at her with a frown, but her eyes were still quietly on the houses ahead. "To get in touch with your contacts, I mean."

He didn't say anything, wondering whether her superiors knew who he was. Everything he was. She glanced over at him.

"Here," she handed him a slip of paper, her voice down to a whisper. "That's my private phone number. Text me if you find anything I can use. I'll find a way to use your intel without Norton noticing."

Yeah, he forgot the girl was still under the thumb of a senior squad leader, unlike Jubilee.

"If you could pass it on to Anna Marie, I'd much appreciate it. As far as I know, she only has my official number and I'm not sure she's aware I have to justify how my informants know what they know."

Anna… He still didn't know what had possessed her to think she could find the petites all by herself.

"Rigby will be staying behind to work in tandem with the local police," she continued. "He'll make sure the forensic analysis of the scene and the bodies will be prioritised and that we get the reports ASAP."

Could Anna possibly be holding back something? Sometimes he thought she was, but it simply didn't make sense. She'd have said it immediately, long before Logan's arrival.

"We should be ready to go back to the Academy in another five or ten minutes."

He needed to stop thinking about Anna. Madame Camille was already looking for any information concerning a team of kidnappers slash murderers who used drones. He had also talked to his old friend, Dan Downs, to check with his cards, but Gambit had to go down and take a hefty sum of money, as the cards apparently only talked of serious matters when one made hefty sacrifices. Still, they'd given good hints before. Cryptic, but good. And since he'd be down there, he'd take the chance to see Tante Mattie, just in case her voodoo arts could suggest Mystique's new headquarters. He was willing to try anything.

"I understand this is not easy for you," Sofía sighed. "But, right now, our best bet is finding Milly. The AMBER alert is working as it should, and there's nothing we can do on that front unless we get a tip about the kidnappers' destination. Still, I have to be honest with you: I don't think she's alive. I just hope that once we find her body, we'll get more hints."

Yeah, he knew. He knew Milly was dead, the AMBER alert would get nothing, and the FBI would never be able to find his children unless they miraculously found a piece of paper with the address where the kidnappers were supposed to get together with Mystique. He knew.

"Gambit, he knows ya's doin' yer best, petite. Mais, tell ya straight, yer best ain't enough. Ya know dat, n'est ce pas? Mystique, she is…"

Evil incarnated, he thought to himself.

"I'm sorry," the girl said softly.

"Non, non, cher. It ain't yer fault. Ya do yer best; Gambit does his best. Together, we'll get mes petites back. C'est tout. We all do our best and…"

Find his petites. Find the kidnappers. Find Mystique. Then, what?

"C'est tout."

* * *

The four-hour-long flight had allowed Rogue to become both calmer and edgier. Sometimes, simultaneously. She was certain she would find her children – because she would! – what she was not as certain was how… What would she do when she came face to face with Mystique? She had lost count of how many different scenarios she'd gone through, from the easiest, where Mystique would leave the children behind to escape and they never even met in person, to the hardest, where Mystique would use her babies as hostages.

Whenever she ran with the difficult scenarios – and those were the majority – Rogue was sure she was going to kill the woman. But when she ran through the easy ones… She would not abandon her babies to run after a revenge. She could not. And then she found herself wishing the treacherous woman didn't run away.

And yet, she couldn't make up her mind. Did she really want to kill someone in cold blood? Because she would do so in the heat of a battle, but would she do it in cold blood? And then how? Shapeshifters are notoriously difficult to kill, especially someone as skilled and powerful as Mystique. Even in the heat of the battle, Rogue would have to be coldly intentional to actually kill her.

"We're about to land in the Parc Monsouris," Scott said suddenly. "Set your watches everyone: it's now 4.28 am, local time. Let's try to do this in two hours, ok?"

There was no time to think. Only yes, there was. It wasn't as if Mystique was waiting for them in Paris, after all.

Bishop and Cannonball joined them inside the Black Bird for a few minutes, just enough to report what they'd discovered while ransacking Chantal Moureau's appartment: nothing. Big surprise! Then they headed to Gautier's appartment. It was less than ten minutes away on foot, and it gave the two X-Ops guys enough time to report on him: single (though he visits a lover regularly in the Parisian suburbs), living in a small top-floor apartment, not cheap but not expensive, either. Of course, top floor in that area meant it was either the fourth or the fifth. Nothing drastic.

Logan sliced through the lock and they quietly went up the stairs.

"Ya know what is the fastest way o' gettin' information outta him," Rogue told Cyclops as they reached the last landing.

"Yes, I know."

"So?"

To Rogue's eyes, it was as if everyone had hesitated, waiting for an answer.

"You're right. But don't mess it up."

Another sliced lock and they were inside the man's house.

Rogue looked down on the sleeping man. She knew she was out of practice. Once, it had been relatively easy to get the right memories out of a person's head, suspecting or unsuspecting; nowadays… the way she'd messed up with Logan, unable to single out his healing factor from his personality and other powers, had left her apprehensive about how well and accurately she could do this.

Only she couldn't mess up. Her children depended on her. With a deep breath, she took off her right hand glove and placed her hand over the man's face.

Oh, the lightheadedness! She had completely forgotten about it. Her mind reeled as the memories were sucked into her brain and she closed her eyes to find her footing, get in control.

Paintings, a naked woman, sculptures, a sunny park, computers, a blond… No! Chantal Moureau. Mystique. She forced the whirling to slow down and focused on that image. But only the face of the woman stood still as the places and people around flowed freely. She let go with a gasp of frustration and realised the man was awake, his face distorted in a mask of fear and shock while Logan's claws motivated him to keep silent.

"Well?"

She looked at Scott and organised her ideas.

"Chantal Moureau… Mystique, really. She was stealin' stuff fer him. He thinks Sabretooth was the one doin' the thefts, but it was obviously her."

"Yes, we already know that," he said impatiently.

"Ya already knew what?" Creed snapped suddenly. "The fuckin' bitch was impersonatin' me and ya didn't fuckin' tell me?"

Rogue let Scott deal with him and focused once more on Gautier.

"Ah wanna know everything that has t' do with Chantal Moureau. And ya have better not make my life difficult."

He breathed in, horror stricken, as Rogue once more grabbed his face.

This time, Chantal Moureau was everywhere. Rogue followed Gautier as he received a small stolen object from her, all the while telling her that yes, the Gulo operation was going well. Gulo? She looked more into it for a second… toxic bullets, Wolverine… oh, it had been discontinued. No reason to bother with it, then. As she tried to go back to the initial memory, she ended up seeing Gautier in a meeting with… she focused harder… Gilbert, Simon… kidnapped Americans… could it be! But no, no, they were grown women to be sold in auction, not her babies.

"The babies ya were hired ta kidnap," Rogue hissed, never breaking contact. "Where are they?"

A dinner meeting came up. Chantal Moureau produced two small image inducers, requested black couriers. Spain. Nothing. Rogue broke contact with a shriek of frustration and punched him once. She'd have kept doing it, but both Logan and Bishop pulled her back.

"What did you learn?"

"He doesn't know anything! It was all organised by the American branch, under this guy named Greer. Samuel Greer. All Gautier knows is that…"

She had to pause and took a deep breath, calm down.

"Mystique gave 'em image inducers ta use. That damned AMBER alert ain't gonna help none 'cause they used fuckin' image inducers ta hide my babies! Ah knew it was all useless!"

She had tears burning her eyes but she must not…

"What else?" Rogue looked at Kitty with a frown. "Were there any other details you got?"

She shrugged.

"Mystique asked 'em ta use black couriers an' ta…" God, this hurt so much. "Ta deliver my babies in Spain. D'ya know how many airports there are in Spain?"

Rogue herself wasn't sure, but there had to be a lot. It's a freaking holidaying country for half the world! How could they possibly go through them all in time to…

"Sofía, hi." Rogue frowned at her colleague who'd gotten her phone out. "I've got news. Look for black couples travelling to Spain. We're not sure if it's one couple with two children, or two couples with one each. Please check as many flights as you can. Thanks. Bye."

When Kitty looked up, Rogue nodded and turned her back on them, went over to the window. She was being stupid, overlooking details that might actually make a difference.

"Was there any mention of deadlines? Dates?"

Rogue shook her head, then said it had all been laid in the hands of that Greer guy.

"But she was paying Gautier," Cannonball pointed out. "Why was she paying Gautier, who is part of the European branch, if the American one was the one doing the work?"

"I hate ta spoil the party, but it's almost 5.20," Creed grumbled. "And I hope ya're all thinkin' that once this prick fails ta show up fer work, the company's security monkeys are gonna check in on 'im, an' then they'll realise all their system has been compromised – 'cause he has ta know a big chunk 'o the hierarchy – an' they'll all disappear. Paperwork burned, computers cleaned, folks privy ta sensitive intel killed. And if it's anythin' like the West Coast branch, it's gonna be fast as hell. I know 'em babies are the priority, but any kidnapped person they got in their hands is gonna end up dead too, Cyclops. I suggest ya break us all up in teams ta crash their offices and warehouses so we can get as much info as we can while savin' as many folks as possible."

Rogue had a sudden flash of hope.

"Perhaps they got information 'bout the American Greer in their computers!"

Perhaps they even had a delivery address, but she didn't dare to voice that particular hope.

"If they're traficking people," Bishop said, "they aren't holding them in the places where they hold stolen goods. Not in the ones we know about, anyway."

Addresses. Rogue touched the man again, focused on addresses. Then she recalled the meeting where they'd mentioned women to be auctioned and zoomed in on it.

"There's an auction goin' down today," she said, not letting go of him, the information flashing past her as she fought to grab only what mattered. "They'll be sellin' a German woman, a celebrity look alike and… there's another one. An American woman. They're being kept in… somewhere in Saint-Denis. He doesn't know the exact address. Wait. No. The one who is being auctioned off has already been transported to Paris. The auction will start at 8 am and will be near the Museum of Chocolate."

She disconnected with a grunt.

"He doesn't know _any_ damned address by heart! But they're all in his car GPS. Most o' them at least."

Shadowcat said she'd be going down to start working on the car immediately. They needed those addresses ASAP.

"I'll join you," Bishop said.

The meeting of the auction replayed in Rogue's head.

"It's all compartimentalised," she said. "There are three sections an' they all keep their own records, no sharin' unless it's necessary. It's the Sales, with Gautier ahead of it, then it's the Acquisitions, headed by a Miron, an' the Distribution, under a Beauvau. Miron is the one that… wait, lemme get it straight. Gautier gets requests and has Miron get 'em. Then Beauvau makes sure the clients get what they asked for. But Miron also decides ta get stuff, or people, an' then auction 'em off. The American woman, she was requested by a long time client, but the celebrity look-alike, she was Mourin's idea an' the tickets fer the auction were in such high demand, they had t' change the auction location last week."

She looked at the man with disgust. It suddenly occurred to her the kidnapped American had been kidnapped in the US. She touched him again, looked for the connection to the States.

"The American woman was taken by the American branch. Gautier got the payment in full an' there was an auditor, sort of, that coordinated the two branches, made sure the Americans got their payment an' that the woman was caught an' transferred. They work with different auditors, only they ain't really auditors, in the sense o' the word. They coordinate between different branches, verify the payments, verify the clients 'emselves, receive complaints, and, if there's a problem, they're the ones who say the proper way to proceed. The one that coordinated fer my babies was called Owen Nills."

She frowned, going through the memories, then let go of the man.

"They're the same. Owen Nills and the other auditor, they've got the same twitches. He's either a shape-shifter or he uses an image inducer. Ah'm gonna guess he changes names regularly, too."

In the back of the room, behind everyone else, Creed smirked at Rogue and nodded approvingly, while Cannonball suggested contacting the police so they could raid the place and arrest the participants. She looked away, ashamed. She knew damned well the psycho wanted to use her, to have her kill Mystique in his place. But the truth was… she needed to know what methods he thought might be best to kill her for good. Creed, with his healing factor and having been so intimate with Mystique, he was the perfect person to give her pointers. It was as if they were using each other.

Using… She narrowed her eyes and looked at all of them. Even Creed. He wanted the threat these people represented to his baby girl gone as defnitely as possible, too.

"Ah'm gonna destroy these people," she said. "They took my babies, took Ah don't know how many people ta sell… The moment Ah got my babies back, Ah'm gonna destroy their every…"

God, she had no words!

"There ain't one single person involved in this, there ain't one single client an' mercenary they _use_ that Ah won't track down an' destroy. Their business is over."

Cyclops nodded silently and Bishop grumbled that, if they were going to poke the French branch of the nest of wasps, the least they could do was…

"No!" She interrupted. "It ain't just France, it ain't just the US. It's all of it!"

All of it. Burnt to the ground.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	17. The Strike

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**17\. The Strike**

Tigard had ended up with Cyclops. Could have been worse. If he had had to team up with Logan, for example, he'd have had his hands tied. Bishop and Cannonball, since they hadn't had much field practice with him, would also have been on their toes and his movements would have been closely monitored. Pryde, on the other hand, wouldn't have noticed him murdering half of Paris if she'd been doing her hacking, but when it came to actual infiltration, he'd never have been able to shake her off. Rogue would have been perfect, but a guy can't have it all.

The three departments – Sales, Acquisitions, and Distribution – were scattered around Paris and had been broken into at exactly six in the morning. It was already light, so the X-Men had had to be careful. More than anything, though, there was the matter of passwords. The only one they had was Gautier's, and the team composed of Wolverine and Cannonball, with Rogue as the supposed observer, had been awarded his office. Pryde and Bishop had headed to the Distribution office, which, after the Sales, should have the most information about kidnapped people and where they'd been sent to. The girl had the skills to crack any password successfully, after all.

Tigard and Cyclops, on the other hand, had been stuck with the Acquisitions. They were the ones least likely to get anything, as they'd be busy hunting the place down for jotted down passwords. If they couldn't get anything, they'd simply have to locate the server and bring it along to the X-Ops' HQ.

Tigard wasn't in a mood to look for passwords seriously. He lazily looked through drawers until he was out of Cyclop's eyesight, then leaned against a wall. He needed to send a message to Desideria's big shots. Rogue was ready to hunt down anything related to the organisation behind the kidnapping, and the X-Men would gladly follow suit. Only that would simply mean the big shots would run off, hide for some time, and then ressurface somewhere else to start anew, with a new organisation where Creed would have no aliases sniffing out the dirt.

No. Rogue and the X-Men were naïve wishers. When you crush a well-oiled criminal organisation, there's a stampede of crooks trying to fill in their crushed shoes and get the profit the previous one was getting. It was a stupid thing to do. You don't shoo the pests you can't erradicate into a new, unknown nest; you keep the nest under-surveillance and make sure the pests don't get too numerous. You keep them under your careful control. And right now, with the danger Rogue represented, right now was the time to give Desideria an ultimatum which would give his family a few years of peace. He'd have to keep on playing the watchdog, obviously, but if the whole organisation stopped looking at mutants as a safe business opportunity…

"Tigard!"

He quickly opened and banged close a drawer in the closest desk.

"Can't find nuthin' we can use nowhere," he said, getting back in the guy's sight. "Guess we'll hav'ta make off wi'the server, right?"

The uptight leader looked pissed and Tigard offered a supposedly frustrated growl to make it look like they really were together on the same boat.

"It's 7.20 already," the guy grumbled. "According to Gautier, the cleaning staff opens the office at 7.30. We don't have any more time."

Not to mention the auction started in little over thirty minutes.

"Guys, can you all hear me?" Loud and clear, Tigard kept to himself. "We'll have to take the server. We're dropping it at the operational base and heading straight to the warehouse in Saint-Denis. Wolverine, get your team in position to crash the auction but make sure you're not made. Shadowcat, you and Bishop get started on the computers."

"Yeah," Rogue piped in. "See if they registered the address where they're supposed ta give my babies ta Mystique."

While he could understand the Southerner's hope, she really was a bit out of touch with reality. The kids had been taken over 12 hours ago. If all they had to do was head to Spain… Mystique had probably had more than enough time to go shopping with the kids for clothes, head out to a different airport, probably not even in Spain, get on another plane and land somewhere else. If she hadn't yet arrived to her newest den, she was probably one to three hours away from it.

"OK, people. Let's get going."

* * *

Tigard grabbed Cyclops by a shoulder and pushed him back with a hissed 'surveillance'.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" The guy hissed back, shaking off Tigard's hand.

"They spot us an' the girl is dead," he pointed out. "There's a camera over there. Can ya see it?"

Only, no, he couldn't. There weren't any!

"There! Hidden in the shadows. Oh, wait! Ya ain't got no heightened vision. Guess, ya're gonna hav'ta take my word fer it."

Cyclops breathed out angrily, but what option did he have? Tigard had been studying the place since they'd arrived, nearly ten minutes before. There were indeed hidden cameras, but they seemed to be your run of the mill stuff. It didn't really fit with the sophistication of the work being done, so it was likely there were hidden sensors. Of course, those wouldn't be wasted on the outer perimeter.

"If they didn't put sensors in those windows up there, I may be able to squeeze through. Can ya climb it up there?"

Cyclop's expression didn't need words.

"Hey, I was just tryin' not ta be patronisin'. Sure I don't think ya can make it, but…"

"Shut up, Tigard. Infiltrate if you can, and switch off the alarms." Sure thing, boss. "And don't forget that finding that woman alive is our top priority."

"Yes, Sir!"

The warehouse was about two storey high, but a third of it was made of irregularly finished masonry. It made for a very easy climb! Of course, there were sensors. He tried every window he could reach outside the range of the cameras and gave it up. The only useful thing he'd gotten from the exercise was a good idea of the layout inside the place.

"Ok, here's the deal: I think I know where they might be keepin' the girl. When ya go in through that door, right there, ya're inside this kinda corridor. The warehouse itself is on the other side. On this side, there are these office an' meetin' rooms. They got wide windows an' glass walls. Right towards the end o' the corridor, though, there are some masonry walls without any doors an' the corridor turns right. I'm bettin' there are some windowless rooms in that area – maybe they's supposed ta be locker rooms or shower rooms or whatever – an' that's where they're probably keepin' her."

"That's too far away. If we can't get in without tripping alarms, they'll have plenty of time to kill her before we get to her, especially as we aren't sure if that's really where they're keeping her. Did you see any entrance on the other side?"

Tigard shook his head, and did so honestly.

"I can go in through the windows on that side," he offered. "The alarm will go off, but I'll be so near that I'll be able ta spot any guards an' get rid o' them 'fore they can ace her."

"And the moment the alarm goes off, I get in through the door. Sounds like the best plan."

'Best plan' was not the same as green light, though, so Tigard crouched and went over all the possibilities. If there was a guard with the chick… or sitting just outside the room she was locked in. In either case, the girl would probably be dead no matter how much he might want her to live. And he did want her to live. She'd be taken in the US, probably by the American branch, so she was a potential source of information. If either Rogue or Frost went inside her head, ransacking through her memories in order to milk every possible clue, it would help them poke around that branch much like they'd done with the European one.

He overheard Cyclops checking in with Wolverine's group, but his own piece was dead. He needed to focus and having people yelling in his ears was irritating. It kept him from thinking absolutely straight under pressure, and this double-operation he got going right now was pressure heavy. He couldn't fail, and he couldn't be made. If the former would both destroy what little trust he'd gotten on the field and get him locked up away from his Nesi and his Lil' Devil for a few days, the latter would keep the danger looming over their heads.

"The auction is running late. Apparently, they're waiting for two big clients whose plane got delayed." Cyclops crouched next to him and breathed out thoughtfully. "Ok. Tigard, get in position on the other side. The moment the auction starts, both you and Wolverine's team crash in. Let's make this simultaneous to avoid any reactive measures."

Great. He'd have to have his communicator on. Fine. Whatever. He nodded and moved into position.

Those minutes felt like hours. Well, tens of minutes, to be honest. But then Wolverine said everyone was in. The door was… closed and locked. Get ready… Tigard was already climbing the wall. GO, GO, GO!

Tigard opened the window silently and the alarm went off. With any luck, they wouldn't immediately identify the point of break in. Better yet, they'd focus on Cyclops, as he barged in through the door. Switching off the communicator as he dropped to the ground, Tigard fell onto a crouch and sniffed the air out of pure habit. There was only one door in that area, and there were people inside. Men's aftershave. Damn!

He crashed through the door and he saw them: one was grabbing the woman's foot, trying to pull her from under the bed, while the other stood ready to shoot her in the head. Outside, Cyclops blasted through the door and there were two or three men yelling in French.

Roaring, he grabbed the armed man by the neck and got a hold of the gun.

"Which one of ya speaks English?"

They both said they did, the one he was grabbing peeing himself. He so hated when so-called security hotshots peed themselves at the slightest threat of death.

"You get a message t'yer bosses." He aimed the gun at the one who was still grabbing the woman's squirming foot. "Get off her, ya asshole!"

He did so promptly.

"They have better quit kidnappin' people. _Any_ kind, not just mutants! The X-Men won't have any interest in yer doings if ya don't mess with _people_. D'ya get that? And ya have better hand over the head o' Chantal Moureau, also known as Mystique an' Raven Darkholme. The kids they took, they belong ta _two_ very powerful X-Men, and every fuckin' mutant an' super-powered hero friendly wi' the X-Men will be huntin' ya all down till 'em kids show up. Now get outta here an' tell yer bosses ta stick ta _stealin'_, not kidnappin'!"

The guy scrambled out. Cyclops must be taking his sweet time, and Creed was not complaining. Of course, if all the guy was facing was three goons, he'd be there shortly.

"Is it safe?"

The young woman slid out from under the bed. She was wearing a light summer dress that had run up almost to her waist during the squirming fight. She didn't seem to be aware of it, though, as she looked up at him with big watery eyes, filled with hope and reverence, adrenaline and incredulity making her body shiver. Creed smirked magnanimously, ready to enjoy his hero… No. Rogue would be going through her every memory.

He must have showed it in his face. Fear flared up in her and Creed hesitated.

"Tigard?"

Quickly, he broke the neck of the man, who had been nearly strangled by then, put the gun in his fear-cold fingers and aimed at her. Her wide watery eyes didn't look away, didn't even blink. She didn't plead.

"Sorry, kid. This wasn't part o' my plan."

He pulled the trigger.

"Tigard!"

The bullet went straight into her forehead and she flopped down. He threw the dead asshole aside, kicked the gun away.

"Damnit, why did you switch off…" He looked at the fuming Cyclops by the door. "What the hell happened? Her safe recovery was our priority!"

Second priority, he corrected in his mind. Holding back a snarl, he looked down at the girl's body. Tears were falling down her cheek, flowing from her wide open eyes. He crouched with a pissed growl and closed her eyelids gently.

"It was bad luck," he grumbled, getting up. "Fuckin' bad luck."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	18. Talks

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

**18\. Talks**

It was 4 am in the States. Sitting at a table with Summers, the mid-morning light shoving itself through the windows, Creed was clenching his teeth to avoid snarling. He was supposed to be going through thousand of files, looking for any instances of kidnapped people, but he simply couldn't focus. He didn't really get why he felt so pissed over the death of the chick. Sure, she could have given them information about the US branch… but it could also have turned out she knew nothing useful. That wasn't what was bugging him.

He kept remembering her big helpless eyes. That reverence turned to disappointment. If only Rogue wasn't so determined to burn down Desideria to the ground, and the X-Men weren't so righteously eager to follow her down that stupid path! But he needed Rogue on his side. He needed her to be so furious with Raven that she actually did kill the blue-skinned bitch. Now that she knew about Tigard, it would only be a matter of time till she figured out he had a family. He'd rather have a full-fledged Desideria running amok than have a vengeful Raven on his case. Unfortunately for the poor girl, that meant Rogue had to keep on seeing him as an ally she could count on. Someone ready to act stupidly in accordance with her vengeful Mamma wishes.

At least his Nesi was smart in her revenges. Not that she had many going on, but… Nesi was just too smart to act stupidly.

If only he'd been able to get a hold of one of those guards in the corridor! If only he hadn't given that message near the girl! If he had thought about it, he'd have dragged the two guys outside, given them the message and set them free. Why hadn't he thought of it?

And what did he care if that nameless chick was dead?

What did he care?

He needed some fresh air!

"Where do you think you're going? Have you seen how much we still have to go through!"

Creed took a deep breath to keep his moodiness in check then breathed out.

"Gonna have a smoke an' send Lilia a message. I want her ta read one as soon as she wakes up."

Cyclops wasn't happy but didn't give him a no. Good. Instead, he started preaching about how he should be weaning her away from the constant phone contacts. Stupid asshole! You don't wean a kid out of anything. You let them grow out of it, with the right nudging to help along, obviously, but you let them cut the strings. Isabel had insistently taught him that particularly sound logic and he subscribed it wholeheartedly.

"And don't forget that even though Sam and Logan are going to be talking with the police for some time yet, Rogue is on her way back. The memories she absorbed from the potential buyers at the auction can help us a lot and I expect you to be up here to participate _actively_."

Creed nodded – as if he gave a shit! – then headed outside.

Mid-September in Paris felt like mid-Summer. People sure went around as undressed as if it were. He got his phone out. It was almost half past four in the States.

_hey what are you doing_

He would have sent the text to Isabel's phone, only that phone was gone. Instead, he sent it to his own private phone, which would be Isabel's from now on. It wasn't as if he'd be able to get her a new one with all the specifics he required her phones to have.

He looked at the green balloon of his message and a wave of tiredness washed over him. Obviously, his brain was telling him he should be sleeping right about now. With his woman. Only that was all gone now. It had only been those few nights before going back to Paris and…

_sliping_

Huh? Oh, yeah, he got it. That woman would never learn to spell, he half-grinned to himself.

_Liar_, he wrote back. _you should be SLEEPING_

He could almost hear her chuckling. Only, if she was awake, it was because she was having nightmares.

_podemos falar?_

Weren't they talking already? Well, sort of.

_where are you lilia will wake up_

But then he reconsidered and resent the text with proper punctuation. It helped her understand longer messages. His phone started ringing.

"Hey," he answered immediately.

"I'm in de corridor," she whispered, her voice echoing inside his body with nothing but pleasure and pain, "outside de bedroom. You found de babies?"

He shook his head.

"It ain't gonna be easy findin' 'em. Too much wasted time an' Mystique ain't easy ta track down when she's lyin' low."

And she would be lying low with those kids.

"And you? You are ok?"

A sudden… it wasn't weakness. Tiredness. Both his brain and his body knew it was time to get some rest. Three more hours and he'd be up for 24 hours straight. He crouched and leaned his back against the wall of the building.

"I ain't slept nuthin' so far," he admitted. "And since we gotta wait fer… I don't know how long!"

"Can't you sleep during two hours, just to… you know."

"Yeah," he said distractedly.

"Den go on, love. Sleep well."

"No, wait!" He didn't want her voice to go. He missed her. "Why ain't _you_ asleep? Ya're safe, now. Everyone involved in… uh… the attack. They're all dead."

"I'm always safe wid you," he could hear the smile in her voice.

Only he wasn't there with her. Did that mean she didn't feel safe?

"Are the nightmares very bad?"

Silence.

"Nesi, I kn…"

"I was in bed," she interrupted, "and I was thinking of you. And den you send me a message. Maybe is telepaty!"

He chuckled, unamused.

"Don't lie ta me, mi Nesita."

"Is _not_ a lie, Victor Creed."

No, it was just twists and omissions.

"And why weren't ya sleepin' instead?"

Silence.

"Honest?"

"_Yes._" For once!

He heard her breathing and held back a sigh. He wanted to feel her breath tickling his skin.

"I heard… isn't important how and who said. I was in de right place and I heard." What was she going on about? "I know dat de people dat kidnapped de babies, dey are de ones dat have de toxic bullets. How you want dat I sleep when I am worried wid you, my love?"

Nightmares or not, he guessed that particular worry would probably be enough to keep her awake.

"Well, ya can quit worryin' that sweet head of yers, Nesi. They ain't usin' no toxic bullets. We've blindsided 'em an' they're runnin' about like headless chicken. They're too busy fallin' back an' protectin' 'emselves ta bring out the big guns an' start attackin'. It's a matter o' priorities."

Which was the reason why the girl had had to die. Priorities.

"Ya know that you 'an Lilia, ya're always my one and only priority, right?"

A sigh on the other side, followed by a quiet 'yes, I know'.

"I'll do anythin' ta make sure there ain't no danger in yer lives."

And that meant sacrificing watery-eyed chicks. Why the hell did she keep bothering him? He was getting soft, that's what!

"Anythin'."

Almost anything a little voice grumbled in his brain. No, he insisted. Anything.

"Now that ya know I'm safe, ya go on t' bed an' get some sleep, ya hear?"

She delayed it, obviously, and he was glad she did. But she needed to sleep. Maybe tonight it had been because of him, but he was pretty sure she was having nightmares again. After being mind raped by a machine… He shook his head.

"Ya're safe," he said softly. "I'll always make sure ya're safe. D'ya want me ta keep talkin' 'bout whatever while ya're tryin' ta sleep?"

"Stop it, Victor." She sounded angry. "I am fine, ok? I don't nee…"

Rogue!

"Gotta go." And he hang up on her. Priorities.

The southerner was frowning at him from a few feet away. It was too light for her to be flying around in plain view of all the flatscans, especially not being in the US.

"What are _you_ doin' out here?"

"Waitin' fer you." Which was a lie, even if a convenient one. "D'ya know how ya're gonna do it?"

She glanced away, her face hardened.

"She'll keep comin' back fer yer babies. Ya know she will."

Rogue nodded.

"The others will try an' stop ya, but I'll do my best ta hold 'em back fer you. The best would be fer the two of you ta meet alone. Ya just talk like ya don't mean ta kill her – she probably won't think ya've got it in ya, what with ya bein' on the angel's side – so it'll be easier ta catch her unaware."

Her eyes were narrowed, probably not seeing the cars driving by in the street even though they were right in front of her. Creed had to act like he believed she'd go through with it, even if she was still having doubts, which he sure as help hoped would be short-lived.

"Chop her head off. Chop all of her inta tiny pieces, if ya wanna play it safe! But no matter how much ya chop, make sure ya burn her t' ashes ASAP. There's no comin' back from ashes."

She still didn't move.

"Ya know she'll keep comin' back fer yer babies," he insisted. "This ain't 'bout you an' her. It's about 'em babies. Ya gotta do what ya gotta do ta keep 'em safe an' there's no two ways 'bout it. It's just one more o' those parental sacrifices."

"Ah know," she said in a harsh whisper, still not meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, I know ya do," he back-pedaled quickly. "Sorry 'bout all the preachin'."

She shot him a withering glance before opening the door to the building. It suddenly occurred to him!

"Wait!" She turned back with a frown. "Ya should have my number. If ya ever need anythin' from me, it'll be easier if ya just text me and I'll tell ya anythin' I can 'bout her old haunts or… anythin' ya need. Damn, I ain't got no paper on me…"

She breathed out angrily and got her own phone out. Once they had both exchanged numbers, she once more opened the door while Creed leaned against the wall.

"Ya ain't comin' up?"

"I'm gonna send my girl a few more texts so she can read 'em with her Mamma the moment she wakes up."

Rogue nodded and entered the building. She had better come through and kill the damned bitch. All manipulation aside, if Mystique seriously wanted the twins, she'd keep coming back for them over and over again. There really was no two ways about it if Rogue was serious about keeping them safe.

He opened the texting app and hesitated for nearly five seconds.

_Still awake? Call me_

Because he knew the woman. No way she'd gone straight to bed and to sleep. Stubborn littl… The phone rang.

"Hey, whatchya doin'?"

"Right now? Not waiting for you to contact again anymore." He quickly killed the smile that had spread across his face. "What are _you_ doing?"

He sighed this time.

"Victor? You ok? You seem to be down."

"Nah." Though he was kind of gloomy. "It's just that I gotta go back ta work. There's thousands an' thousands o' files ta go through an' they're all urgent."

They were going through the most recent to the oldest cases and, whenever they came across the sale of a person, they either contacted the nearest super-powered team or the local police. The idea was to keep at it till Sofía got back to them with a report from her research about black people travelling to Spain with sleeping toddlers. There really wasn't much more they could do on the twin front. Of course his gloominess had nothing to do with work, not even with the missing twins.

"Of course."

Her voice betrayed all the disappointment he himself felt.

"Listen, this phone I'm using belongs t' the X-men, just like Lilia's. That means they can probably hack in an' go through our messages so I'm gonna delete everythin' 'cept the ones that are 'tween me an' Lilia. Ya should do the same, just in case they figure out I'm deletin' stuff an' get curious. I'm gonna send some messages now, so Lilia can read 'em when she wakes up."

"Sure. Good idea."

"I gotta go now."

"Try to rest a little."

"Yeah."

As if it would happen. He could hear her breathing in the distance.

"Ya ain't hangin' up," he pointed out.

"You aren't hanging up too."

He smirked.

"Ya're the one who's supposed ta hang up first."

"Why?"

" 'Cause…"

He stopped himself. They could waste half an hour in this senseless to and fro and he really should go back up and play the quiet, sharp lil' soldier, even if he'd rather listen to the voice of his woman.

"I really gotta go, now. Bye."

But he still didn't hang up.

"See you soon."

And she didn't hang up either. He got suddenly pissed.

"Go get some sleep, woman."

He ended the call abruptly then resisted the urge to call her back. Instead, he deleted the few messages they'd swapped and texted something reassuring for his own baby girl. Rogue had better kill the damned bitch. She was too dangerous, too fucking spiteful to live.

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If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	19. Unhappy Endings

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

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**19\. Unhappy Endings**

Sofía had called shortly after lunch with news: the only Spanish airport that had received more than one black couple travelling with a toddler was the international Madrid airport. Rogue would have flown off immediately, only she didn't really have a GPS with her and had no idea where that airport was located. And then there were the bureaucracies. She still remembered when the Xtreme X-Men had been targeted by an overzealous Action Force in Valencia.

This time around, though, both the FBI and Scott had contacted the authorities before the jet had reached the country's airspace. Result? Not only had the airport cleared a runway for the jet to land, but the Action Force had been standing by, ready to offer them assistance… while keeping a close eye on them, naturally.

Diego Sandoval was no longer the leader of the team. Now he was their supervisor and, apparently, the Avengers themselves had contacted him requesting that any information concerning the whereabouts of the dangerous shape-shifting terrorist be shared. Rogue guessed Hank might have been the one to give the Avengers a call.

"The FBI has sent us the information concerning the flights where the suspects travelled," Sandoval explained as he led them to a room where they could watch the footage from security cameras. "We started going through the videos of the passengers arriving on those flights but, by the time we got the information, all of those people had left the airport."

Of course, they had! Chop Mystique's head? Rogue was going to rip it off her shoulders!

"… any clearly suspicious behaviour. But perhaps the mother will be able to identify the children?"

While wearing image inducers?! Were these people… ! Scott started explaining it but… Oh, how she wished she might be able to look at those videos and recognise her children. A motherly sixth sense, of sorts! Even if she knew it was impossible. If she were face to face with them, maybe; but looking at a video of people walking by while wearing image inducers? She might as well contact a fortune teller.

"There were seven suspect couples," Sandoval offered a chair facing the screen and everyone made way so Rogue could sit. "Two travelled on the same flight. Here you can see their arrival."

Her heart beating wildy, she looked at the couples and, above all, at the children.

"It's not them," and her heart sunk.

Both couples were travelling with a toddler each, but the children were both wide awake and they clearly trusted the adults they were with. Her own babies would either be asleep – drugged, naturally – or they would be afraid of the strangers carrying them.

"It's not them," she repeated to herself.

The next video showed a couple travelling with twins and an older child. Behind her, someone was saying the older child could be a prop, but Rogue was more concerned with the toddlers. They were asleep. Could it be them?

As the family walked through the maze of the airport, the children never woke up. They went through the arrivals and the mass of people waiting for their loved ones to show up. An older couple was waiting in the back. They greeted them cheerfully and left.

"Unless Mystique has an accomplice, this couple isn't who we're looking for," Sandoval said before getting the video of the next couple.

As Sandoval had said, not one of the seven couples had done anything suspicious, whether they were met by friends and family or left for the taxis. As they finished seeing the last video, Scott asked to look at four of the couples again, the ones whose children had been sleeping through.

It was hopeless, though. And even if they could identify with certainty the kidnappers, or couriers, what could be done? Arrest the couriers, if they had no way of changing their appearance and could thus be later identified? That would not help her track down Myst… Creed pushed her aside suddenly, getting closer to the screen.

"That's a double stroller," he pointed at a person on the screen.

The man had one of those umbrella strollers, all folded up and hanging from his shoulder. He was waiting for one of the suspected couples, alongside a woman carrying a sleeping baby in her arms. As the couple came out with their own sleeping toddler in the arms, the woman adjusted the baby. It was a large child with very little golden hair and wrapped in a pink comforter. She was suckling on a pacifier in the shape of a pink animal, it seemed.

As the couple came out, the grown-ups petted the baby's cheek, nearly waking her up. She fussed slightly as the people smiled around her, but she quieted down as the mother hushed her. Then they walked out together, chatting away with wide grins. Would they have risked waking a child who would start calling for her momma?

"I don't give a shit what ya think is the behaviour o' people trafickin' professionals," Creed shot at Sandoval. "What is the fuckin' sense of havin' a big, heavy baby sleepin' in yer arms, when ya can put her in the baby stroller? And it's a _double_ stroller! Fer carryin' _two_ kids, in case ya don't know what double means!"

Rogue focused on the screen as the video was re-started. Behind her, Scott was apologising for the outburst while pointing out that the image inducer could have been used to hide one of the toddlers in plain sight.

"A baby is much smaller than a toddler," the guy pointed out. "Sure, that looks like a big baby, but still…"

"You can use the image inducer to make the child seem smaller, the extra volume being explained by the comforter being too large," Scott insisted.

And it was, Rogue nodded. One of the ends was hanging nearly to the floor. Or maybe it was arranged to look that way.

"How can you tell it's a double stroller?" Sam asked what Rogue was wondering.

Sure, the umbrella stroller looked big and cumbersome, but every folded stroller is going to look way too big.

"If ya ain't goin' 'round in yer own car, ya want an umbrella stroller that is lightweight an' that one person can single-handedly fold and unfold while holding the child in their arms. Ya know, the flimsy type that's just a piece o' fabric over the structure. A petite woman can carry a folded stroller on one shoulder while still carrying a baby. Even while carrying a toddler! _That_ is too large ta be a single stroller."

Rogue hadn't bought umbrella strollers, hadn't even looked at them! She hadn't looked at anything besides modern tandem convertible strollers, and the one she'd got had quickly been nicknamed the 'Baby SUV'. She had rarely used it, though.

Sandoval pulled up a video showing the group getting in a taxi.

"Can you find out where that taxi took them to?"

For about forty minutes, Rogue allowed herself to hope.

While they were waiting, Sofía called in to inform that Milly's dead body had been discovered abandoned in a ditch. Much to Rogue's shame, she didn't feel pity for the poor girl. She had taken her babies, after all, even if she had been threatened to do so. She should have talked to Rogue, instead. Never would her babies be in the hands of another nanny. Never!

Then Jubilee called to say she'd discovered the abducted children in an old farm down in Milton, NC. They'd been in the care of two women hired to work as some sort of nursery teachers, even though they lacked any qualification for the job. Bottom line, though, they were safe and in the process of being reunited with their parents.

Rogue's heart was bleeding with pained resentment. She so wanted to be one of those mothers!

And then Sandoval came back.

"He dropped them near a hotel. The nearest police officers have already questioned the receptionist and I can tell you no one checked in that night in that particular hotel. There are also no records of taxis picking up people with children in that area within a time frame of four hours. We're checking all hotels, motels and residentials in the area, but, if Mystique had a car waiting for her, we won't be able to find anything."

Rogue turned around and walked away. Even though they talked in a low voice, she could hear enough words to know they were kindly giving her some alone time to digest the news. She didn't need digesting time, though. She needed a plane ticket.

Fortunately, Scott had wanted them to wear civil outfits over the uniforms, to avoid any conflicts with the locals. She got to a counter and asked for the first plane headed to Afghanistan. There was one leaving in half an hour.

As she headed to the gate, she got her phone out. There was a text message from Creed.

_when in europe she prefers to be based in germany austria and uk_

_shes gonna avoid those places cause theyre too obvious but you can check them in case she prepared the entire operation from one of them_

_ill send you all the addresses I know asap_

She wondered if the guys had also realised she was taking the matter in her own hands.

_my plane arrives in kabul at 9.30 local time_, she texted back.

Rogue had contacted Laura while she was still at the Academy. Once upon a time, the young woman had offered to help protect the then still unborn children, so Rogue had tried to contact her even before leaving the Academy and heading down to New York. Unfortuntely, she was currently living in the middle of the mountains and didn't often have cell coverage, so Rogue hadn't yet heard from her. Her plan, right now, was simply to find Laura. In the mean time, Creed would send addresses and then she would be able to organise her mind and put together a plan to…

Breathing out her anger and frustration, Rogue pushed back tears of desperation.

Her mind was not clear. Not clear at all. All she could think of was how she was going to kill Mystique and those thoughts were definitely becoming cold-hearted determination, rather than enraged exageration.

First, though, she'd have to find Mystique. She had to clear her mind and find a way to find that poisonous snake who was obviously hiding as far away as she could.

The young lady at the gate reached for a microphone and her voice was heard through the loudspeakers, warning that the boarding gate was about to open and would priority boarders please approach.

That did not include her.

_keep me posted on any development_, she texted Creed. _but don't tell the others_

They'd end up coming after her, she knew. They'd try and stop her from doing what she had to do. They were X-Men, and X-Men are better than the villains they fight. Villains kill their enemies; X-Men bring them to justice. Well, in this particular case, death was justice.

_no suspicions youre bailing out yet_

_sandoval and cycl are checking all ways out of the country and sending alerts for 1 woman travelling w 2 sleeping children between certain sizes_

She could drive to France, though, and board a plane there. Or she could pay someone to play the part of a husband.

"Passengers in the boarding group 1 may now approach."

That was her. Rogue switched off the phone and got her boarding pass.

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And that is the end of the disasters. I'm sorry to leave you with an unhappy ending, but Mystique crafted her plan too well for any other outcome to be feasible. Fear not, though! Next (as in the next few minutes) comes 'Fighting for a Happy Ending' and I promise you nothing less than three happy endings.

Thank you for reading and enjoying!

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If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


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